


The Girl in the Mirror

by sarathechimera



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Body Horror, Canon Universe, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Drama, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Hallucinations, Insanity, Insecurity, Kingly Dimitri, Married Couple, Married Sex, Memory Loss, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mild Gore, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, Mystery, Near Death Experiences, Romance, Sex, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vulnerability, dimileth, locked in syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarathechimera/pseuds/sarathechimera
Summary: Byleth awakes from a violent, war-torn dream to find herself alone in a moonlit chamber. The veil between reality and dream thins as mysterious, haunting visions allude to a secret lurking below the surface of peace. Will Byleth pull on the thread to pursue the truth, knowing that it may unravel the life she has longed for and finally attained? Sequel to Indelible and Inescapable
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 65
Kudos: 99





	1. Upon Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings for this chapter   
> No tag warnings for this chapter
> 
> Edit: Cleaning up typos

The spell hit her chest and burned like acid upon impact, forcing her back and dulling the responsiveness of her limbs. She gritted her teeth, muscles locked as she pushed back against the speed and force of the dark energy that threatened to send her hurtling through the air. With a grunt, she pushed hard enough to break the spell which dissipated into the air. Byleth tried to find her balance but where there should have been solid ground beneath her feet there was only air. One hand tightened on the Sword of the Creator and the other clawed helplessly at the sky as she fell backwards into the abyss.

Air rushed around her and she screamed just as she hit the ground. Bright light exploded across her vision before blackness that rivaled the dark-dimension diffused across her consciousness.

She tried to scream again but only a strangled gasp erupted from her throat as she sprang upright. Sweat beaded on her forehead and neck, dampening the fabric of her night gown. Wild eyes darted about in darkness before adjusting to the soft moonlight dappling the chamber with silver and shadows. Raising a shaking hand to her face, Byleth assured herself that she was whole and alive. Pressing her palms to her forehead she muttered soft reassurances to herself. "It was a dream. It was a dream?"

Eventually, her breath slowed and her eyes adjusted to the night as she worked to gather her bearings. She was in a bed; the room was large with a high vaulted ceiling. Stone walls were softened by hanging tapestries with details obscured by shadows and animal pelts from various species. The colored glass panes in the windows flanking her bed were opaque so she could not see through the geometric pattern.

A fireplace dominated the wall opposite the foot of her bed, so large that three men could stand abreast within the hearth. The mantle was made of wood, grand and carved ornately to depict a crest of some sort. All that remained of a fire in the hearth were embers glowing faintly beneath mounds of ash. It must be very early in the morning she surmised.

As though reminded by the remnants of fire, Byleth took note of her breath thickening into a faint mist before her eyes. It was bitingly cold wherever she was. Shivering, she drew the blankets up to her chin. Multiple layers of blankets in a variety of thicknesses lay across the bed, topped by a soft, plush fur. Wherever she was, hunting was of great importance, she thought as she ran her fingers through the fur.

Furniture was scattered about the room in small groupings, chairs and a set of tables in front of the fireplace, a vanity with a large mirror framed in gilded gold was placed along the wall nearest her and opposite her were tables and bookcases housing decorative items as well as an imposing wardrobe. These pieces cast shadows along carpets and layered furs atop the tiled floor and it was difficult to estimate their true sizes. The pieces along the wall loomed in shadows that exaggerated their size.

Her gaze circled back to the dressing table and mirror atop it. Squinting, she studied herself and the bed she occupied. It was a grand piece of furniture, built of four posts the width of her thighs and carved in coiled rings rising to support dark fabric between them. She supposed that the fabric atop the posts was meant to trap heat as it rose from the fireplace. The headboard was massive and it too was decoratively carved to depict what appeared to be a forest scene and figures on horseback.

 _"Where am I?"_ she wondered. It was as though this place was familiar to her even though she could not name it. Furrowing her brows, Byleth tried to recall but, try as she might she could not grasp the answer.

The sound of footsteps in the hall behind the thick wooden door reached her, forcing her attention to the here and now. She did not know who was approaching or what they wanted. This made her stomach churn. Where were her clothes? Where were her shoes? Where was the Sword of the Creator? Each question sparked a new one and sent her stomach into twists and knots, stirring this sudden fear into near panic as the footsteps grew louder.

Springing up from the bed, she bolted toward the wardrobe. Flinging the doors open, she realized that it was too dark to see what it contained but it was evident that her weapon and boots were not here. These articles of clothing were meticulously hung and folded and the fabric she touched was fine and likely expensive. Nothing she felt as she groped blindly resembled her clothing or cloak.

Next, she bent to look under the bed. Perhaps her clothing had been stored elsewhere. Her stomach sank to find nothing at all under the bed. How could she have been so careless to allow her clothing and weapons to be misplaced? Or, perhaps they had been taken from her.

She could see light growing brighter under the door accompanying the footsteps in the hall and she pursed her lips. The best option, she decided, was to hide and hope that she could overpower whoever was about to enter the room. But if she hid under the bed, she would have no advantage upon being discovered. A sweep of the room determined that the mantle jutted out just enough from the wall to obscure the sightline from the door. It would suffice.

Thankful for the plush carpeting that muted her foot falls, she darted across the room with hardly a moment to spare. She pressed herself against the wall, ignoring the bite of cold stone seeping through the fabric of her nightgown waiting for the sound of the opening door.

With no weapon to grasp and no inkling as to who this might be, Byleth resorted to magic even though it was not her area of expertise. Verse painstakingly rehearsed played across her mind, calling together elements to mingle in her hand. The powerful currents shifted and split and came back together beneath the roll of her fingers as she prepared.

The latch clicked, the door slowly opened and Byleth began to close her fist, pushing the gathered elements together. With enough pressure, they would combust and she could finish the verse that would send the fireball flying at the figure stepping quietly into the room.

The door opened and dim candle light began to push the darkness back. A shadowy figure stepped slowly into the room carrying a single candlestick and candle to light their way. Byleth bounced lightly on her toes preparing to spring forth but biding her time. As the figure stepped further into the room, toward the bed, she weighed her options; attack or sneak out the door. She doubted that she could escape, barefoot and undressed as she was in such a cold climate which left her with only one alternative.

Magic crackled in her palm as she stepped forward out of her hiding place. "Stop where you stand," she growled menacingly but was immediately knocked off balance as the person shrieked and jumped a foot off the floor with arms flailing defensively. She dropped the candlestick she had been carrying and the flame snuffed out at it fell.

Staggering back, Byleth clenched her fist and the fireball blazed to life in her palm revealing a woman in blue and white servant's livery. Without the rest of the incantation for propulsion, the fireball rolled out of her hand to bounce along the floor. Flames rose along the ball's path which continued across the carpeted floor before it rolled to a stop and appeared to melt into the weave surrounded by a nest of flames.

"Holy goddess!" the woman shouted as Byleth issued another viler curse.

"Fire!" the woman screeched, jumping from foot to foot. "Look out!"

The flames spread fast devouring the fabric of the carpet faster than Byleth has anticipated. She jumped back off the carpet, her toes barely escaping a singeing. The fire would spread even further if she did not do something quickly. Acting instinctively, she grabbed a thick fur throw from the back of a chair and threw it over the fire intending to smother it.

"My lady, be careful!" the servant wailed, clutching at the high collar of her blouse. "Help! Help! Fire in my lady's chamber!"

"Quiet!" Byleth hissed at the woman as she continued to beat at the flames. "You'll bring the whole place down on us!" But it was no use. The woman continued her braying distracting her for too long from the flames which had crept from the carpet to the fur in her hands. "Ouch!" She sprang away from the throw, shaking her hand against the sting of a fresh burn.

Figures appeared in the doorway and then disappeared. Cries for water commenced and it finally dawned on her. _"Water! Of course!"_ Spinning around to find the dressing table, she found exactly what she had hoped for, a basin with water.

"Out of the way!" she commanded, spinning with the dish in hand. Water sloshed out of the porcelain dish, wetting her hands as she hurled it at the fire, not seeing the figure charging the fire with a pitcher of their own opposite her. Water slapped them in the face just as the slippery basin flew out of her wet hands to strike them in face as well with a loud thunk.

"What in the name of Seiros!" spluttered the man stumbling back and dropping his pitcher to break on the floor. More men spilled through the door, coming between the first man and the fire with water to combat flames which hissed in response. Smoke began to fill chamber at a rapid pace as the heat subsided.

Coughing and fanning the air to clear her vision, Byleth noted the figures moving about in the smoke separating her from the door. She counted at least five men moving about but there could be more waiting just outside the door. There was no way that she could escape now.

"Is it out?"

"What happened?"

"Where is the mistress?"

"What in the blazes happened?" demanded the voice of the man she had assailed with her water basin.

"I'm so sorry your majesty!" She recognized the voice of the woman who had instigated this whole thing. "I came to wake my lady at your return and she sprang out at me, giving me such a fright that I dropped my candle. OH MY GODDESS LOOK AT THE STATE OF THIS ROOM!" she howled. Someone had opened a window and as the air began to clear the early morning light laid plain the state of the chamber.

Smoke damage marred many of the wall hangings and the furniture in front of the fireplace were ruined the paint bubbled and black in some places and the upholstery charred or black with soot. The carpet, once thick and opulent had a hole in it the size of a small horse cart with the edges of the hole melted crisp and black. The fur throw she had used was nothing more than a curled, smoking mass of hair on the floor. What remained of the carpeting was sopping wet. It produced a slopping, squishy noise beneath her feet as the servant strode this way and that, muttering softly to herself and clutching at her neck as she went.

A man, dressed in black riding clothes squatted with his back to her examining the damage. Shaggy blonde hair still partially tied back with a leather strip stuck to his neck and head, weighted down with water. Blinking, Byleth realized that this man was familiar. She knew him, in fact, but his presence here made no sense. She had to be mistaken but, who else could it be? Frowning, she stepped cautiously toward him.

"Dimitri?" she asked hesitantly.

At hearing her voice, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. Wet strands of hair were matted across his face but they did not obscure his crystalline eyes nor the warmth spreading across his face with his smile. "Quite a way to welcome me home, my love."

The stunned confusion she felt must have shown plainly because his smile slowly faded. "Byleth?"

As he rose, she stepped back. He looked different, altered in slight ways that individually might have been overlooked but, when combined gave him a different air. How could he have changed from the way he had looked just hours before? His hair was longer than she remembered and his shoulders broader. Had his jawline always been so defined and his cheek so lean?

"Are you alright? Have you been injured?" he asked, reaching for her.

Her head began to swim and her vision blurred as she raised a hand to fend him off. Her breath was coming in short bursts as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing. _"My love? My lady? My mistress?"_ She stepped back again as he neared her, stumbling onto the bench in front of the dressing table.

"She swoons!" cried the woman who had been bustling about the ruined carpets.

"Peace, Margaret," Dimitri said soothingly as he kneeled slowly in front of Byleth. "Are you well?" he asked, peering up at her with concern evident on his face. He took her hand. The feel of it was warm and startlingly familiar. She recoiled, jerking her hand back.

"My lady burned her hand," the woman reported, obviously watching them from where she stood at the opposite side of the room. Luckily, the burn was beginning to blister on her hand and it provided the perfect excuse for flinching at his touch. She suddenly felt sheepish and unsure of herself.

"It's not bad," she reassured him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. "I'm sorry about the…" her voice trailed off and she gestured to his face. A large pink mark hinted at the bruise that would soon form on his forehead.

"It will take a lot more than a wash basin to dampen my mood today!"

He laughed and she could not help but smile at the sound. She could not easily recall the sound of his uninhibited laughter before, it was glorious and infectious. She chuckled softly still unsure of what exactly was going on. "We did it," he said softly as though she should know what he was talking about.

"We did?" she asked cautiously, not yet willing to divulge her confusion.

He was nearly shaking with the joy of his news and, unable to contain it, he took hold of her by the waist to lift her effortlessly. Her squawk of surprise fell on deaf ears as he spun her around. "The treaty has been signed! Duscar has been restored and peace between us established!"

This was indeed marvelous news, but how had it come to pass? He lowered her and she slid against his solid frame to alight on the floor once more. Her arms settled naturally around his neck. His hands tightened on her hips as he lowered his face to hers. Byleth had hardly had the chance to catch her bearings before his lips pressed to hers.

Raising on her toes, she met him as though they had done this a thousand times, the movements familiar but still thrilling enough to make her stomach drop. Her head grew light again at the feel of his lips and she smiled despite herself against them. Then, he kissed her forehead before resting his own against it. She could feel color rushing to her cheeks as she peered up at him through her eyelashes.

"It is finally happening," he whispered as he shut his eyes with a soft sigh of relief.

She was brimming with questions but the tremendous wonder of this moment eclipsed her uncertainty. His hands on her hips were so familiar and the closeness of his face so intimate that she instinctually brushed her nose across his. He opened his eyes, and smiled warmly upon seeing her. She laughed softly, beaming up at him in return.

The clearing of a throat cut their time short and, upon looking, they found the dramatic servant from before shaking her head at them. Had he said her name was Margaret?

"May I remind your majesties that you are standing on ruined carpets and that my lady nearly frightened me to death?" The last she punctuated with an indignant sniff.

"Of course," Dimitri said straightening and clearing his throat. He released her waist as he turned to face the matronly woman but, as he did, he took hold of Byleth's hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. Her breath quickened at the feel of his fingers as they closed around her hand despite the curious feeling of routine suggesting that this action had been repeated often.

"You are quite right, Margaret. My apologies for getting swept away. I have not seen my queen since the Horsebow Moon and I am bringing her long awaited news."

Byleth looked from Dimitri to Margaret, feeling as though she should explain herself but unsure of the best way to do it. "My apologies for frightening you Margaret," she said, raising a hand to her chest and bending slightly at the waist. As she straightened, she beheld Margaret's face scarlet and horrified.

"My mistress! Do not bow to me! It is above your station and an insult to me in mine!" she exclaimed, clutching again at her high collar.

Byleth blinked in confusion and Dimitri laughed yet again. "Oh, my beloved! Always quick with a jest. Margaret, please stop holding your throat like that."

"It simply is not proper, your Majesty," Margaret insisted as she obeyed, lowering her hands from her throat, she busied herself with smoothing her skirts, still managing to look affronted. "Regardless, I must insist that my majesty leave so that I may dress your wife for breakfast. My goodness, she is still in her night clothes!"

Margaret made it sound as though she were scantily clothed. Why, the woman blushed as she turned to the serving men who had some to survey the fire damage! Byleth looked down at the thickly woven material covering her as completely as a full suit of armor.

"Shoo!" she shouted, waving them away as though they were chickens. "Shoo! My lady is indecent!"

"I'll see you shortly for breakfast," said Dimitri, all solemnity save for the twitching of a smirk at the corners of his lips. He moved to walk away from her but Byleth tightened her hand in his, widening her eyes as though begging him not to leave her alone with Margaret.

"Your majesty, please!" insisted Margaret, poised at the door.

Byleth gave him the slightest shake of her head, pleading silently not to leave her here. Paying her despair no mind, he drew her hand up to his lips. He even had the gall to wink at her before releasing her hand and walking out the door. Margaret who shut the door firmly behind Dimitri. Once again, she was alone with the woman. Byleth shuffled her feet, unsure of what was coming next.

"There," said Margaret and without a moment's pause, she sloshed across the ruined carpet, stopping just in front short of colliding with her. Byleth winced and braced herself, certain that an ear-boxing was unavoidable. However, rather than rounding on her, Margaret took a firm hold of her burned hand. Twisting it and raising it to the light, she examined the tender skin.

In the soft morning light, Byleth could see the woman clearly for the first time and found her to be in her middle ages. Hair that had once been dark brown was mostly white now and was wound about her head in a thick braid, giving her an even sturdier appearance than without. Yes, sturdy was the best word to describe her or perhaps stout. Her fingers, though thick, were nimble as she turned Byleth's hand this way and that and her eyes, already small on her face, nearly vanished from sight as she squinted. Her long skirts were such a dark blue that they appeared black and she had somehow managed to keep them spotless even amidst a fire. The white of her sleeves and collar were crisp and clean as though they'd never seen a stain. Byleth knew immediately that this woman, this Margaret, was not to be crossed.

As she watched, Margaret's hands began to glow and Byleth's skin grew cold. So, Margaret was a healer. The cold sharpened beyond soothing as the glow peaked into brilliant white light before winking out completely. The sting of her burn was gone and the cold dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared but the examination of her hand continued.

Finally, Margaret nodded with a harrumph, apparently satisfied with her work. "Now, we must get you cleaned up." Bustling away, she opened the door to briskly instruct a pair of serving women in the hall. They nearly jumped in their haste to fetch a wash tub, washcloths and soap.

"Can't have you in the state you're in," she continued, shutting the door behind her. Byleth wasn't sure if she was speaking to her or to herself as she crossed the room with an undeclared but specific purpose. "Barely married a year and parted for eight moons." She continued to mutter indistinctly as she gathered a mountain of clothing from the dresser and drawers, brushes and combs. By the time she'd finished assembling the tools needed to make her presentable, the maids had returned with a washtub, towels, washcloths and soap. She doubted that they needed the instruction that Margaret provided on setting up the items but they took it in stride with the occasional "Yes Ma'am," and "Of course, madam."

All of this should have come as a bigger surprise to her. Byleth did not remember being married to Dimitri nor did she remember becoming the Queen Consort of Faerghus but, the longer she considered it, the more comfortable the notion became. Somehow, she knew all this to be true but she simply could not recall any details of the events leading up to today. Looking to the ring finger on her left hand, she examined the golden band and deep hued emerald set there. He must have given this to her. But when and how?

"Margaret?" she asked abruptly, interrupting the woman as she provided further instructions to the other servants. "How long have I lived here in the palace?"

Margaret turned, eyeing her as though she suspected another trick. "My mistress has been with us in Fhirdiad since your marriage to his Majesty in Imperial Year 1183, Garland Moon." As she rattled off the date and the month, she marched across the room toward her and Byleth suspected that she and this woman did not get along.

"You've kept a careful count," she murmured allowing Margaret to pull her forward toward the wash tub.

"It is my job as the Royal Governess to know everything about everyone," she explained, her tone giving the impression that she explained this many times before. Then, without pause, she bent to lift the hem of Byleth's nightgown.

"What are you doing?" Byleth asked incredulously. Color had exploded on her cheeks as she took a step back, snatching the cloth from the woman's hands as she did.

"Must we do this every time, my lady? It is proper and expected that my mistress be disrobed, washed and dressed by her servants." Margaret took a stern step forward trying to take back the hem but she was easily evaded. "Come now mistress! Your water will chill!"

Ever tenacious, Margaret pursued and Byleth retreated, placing the bench of the dressing table between herself and her would be bather. "I can bathe myself. There is no reason to…"

"There is every reason to! It is a servant's duty to…"

"Duty be damned! I will not be…"

The pair danced back and forth with the bench between them. Each time Margaret made a move to one side, Byleth lunged to the other always staying out of arm's reach over the top of the furniture. This continued until Margaret could take no more.

"Hold still!" she bellowed and, with a sudden surge of strength, speed and agility, she dove over the top of the bench to catch hold Byleth's arm. "I have bathed noble _children_ who have exhibited more decorum!"

With no shortage of protestations and great attempts at modesty from Byleth, Margaret finally succeeded in stripping and scrubbing her as she stood in the wash tub shivering from the cold. Humiliating as it was to be washed like livestock, she now knew how imprudent it was to challenge this woman. On the other hand, it gave her a chance to collect her thoughts once she became accustomed to the sound of her own teeth chattering.

She was in the capital city of Faerghus. Not just the capital but the palace. Somehow, they had triumphed in the battle against the Imperial army. Dimitri had been crowned, they had fallen in love and married all in the scope of four years. She thought back to that night before the battle, and the remembrance of Dimitri's hands and lips on her body and the feel of his skin beneath her fingers was almost enough to fend off the cold from her bath water. She shivered and wondered how they had mended the break between them when he'd uttered Edelgard's name while inside of her.

"Never mind, my queen, this will be over soon enough," chuckled Margaret, misreading her shiver as a reaction to the cold. "I told you that if you tarried your water would chill." The woman could hardly contain her satisfaction as she squeezed the water from the cloth to run in icy rivulets down Byleth's body, collecting fragrant suds in its path to the washbasin.

Ignoring her, Byleth shifted her attention to the disorienting dream she'd awoken from. It had felt so real and yet her chest showed no sign of whatever had hit her and burned with such intensity. Could it be a memory? No. They had vanquished the army and defeated Edelgard. However, she clearly remembered falling through rubble after being struck but if they had triumphed, why would she have been in the village below the monastery in the first place?

She shook her head at the memory of falling for an eternity into darkness, grasping for something to hold on to with nothing but the Sword of the Creator in her hand. The sword! She gasped audibly as her eyes darted about the room. "Where is the Sword of the Creator?"

The panic in her voice must have startled Margaret because she paused, one hand holding Byleth's arm erect with the other in mid-scrub along her ribcage. "The Sword of the Creator is enshrined at Garreg Mach monastery where it has been since the defeat of the Aldrestian emperor in the year 1180," she said slowly, eyeing Byleth suspiciously. "Do you not remember entrusting it to the archbishop prior to your journey here?"

Byleth held the woman's gaze for a moment. Could this be true? If she were to entrust the relic to anyone it would be Rhea. This answer was all together plausible. "I must have forgotten," she mumbled, lowering her eyes.

"Do not fret, my queen," Margaret said cheerfully as she began scrubbing with renewed fervor. "You've had quite a bit of excitement this morning with the fire and his majesty's return. It's no surprise that you'd forget something here and there. Why, just the other day I could have sworn I placed the silver tea set on the table in front of the hearth in the drawing room. In fact, I was so sure of it that I just knew Waldon had pilfered it! I even went so far as to box his ears before I realized that I had actually left it…"

Margaret continued to prattle on as she finished Byleth's bath who found that she envied Waldon his ear-boxing to this torture. With her skin sufficiently scrubbed red and her hair dripping frozen beads down her back, Margaret announced that she was clean and ready to be dried and dressed.

What followed was a bombardment of fabric pulled unceremoniously over her head and adjusted as though she were a bag of potatoes. No fewer than five layers of clothing had to be meticulously pulled, cinched and fine-tuned before a new layer required further repositioning of the previous. Byleth, thoroughly scrubbed into submission, accepted this with a minimal display of irritation.

The first layer was comprised of stifling undergarments which were followed by a sleeveless white sheath dress that fell to the floor as shapelessly as a curtain. The fabric of this garment was thickly woven cotton or wool but elegant just the same. Over that came an even heavier, quilted piece with long sleeves that covered her wrists and floor length skirts. It was grey or perhaps silver hued with complex embroidery about the cuffs.

The fourth layer was by far the most decorative and the material felt flimsy in comparison to previously garments. The neckline dipped low, meant to show a scandalous amount of bosom in those less concerned with virtue and modesty, according to Margaret. For the queen consort, it gave a regal layered effect when paired with her undergarments, again, according to Margaret. The fine fabric was silky to the touch and dyed a deep, royal blue with scroll work delicately stitched in silver and pearl along the sleeves which gathered at the elbow. The fabric about the shoulders and was slashed with silver.

Finally, a cloak was placed carefully on her shoulders. It was too thin for practical outdoors use but was lined in thick black fur. By the time she was dressed, the chill had left her bones and sweat threatened to drip down the curve of her back. But she wasn't free from this test of patience quite yet.

Her hair was then ruthlessly brushed, combed and wound into braids which were tucked behind her head. She was assured, yet again by Margaret, that this was the current fashion in Fhirdiad when Byleth dared to grunt in discomfort at the tugging and pulling against her scalp.

When the endeavor was complete, she hardly recognized herself blinking back owlishly from her reflection in the mirror. She looked delicate and regal, not at all like the Ashen Demon she'd been called in what felt like a previous life. Perhaps the only part of herself that seemed familiar were her large, pale green eyes which peered at her from the face in the mirror. Byleth raised a hand to her face, touching her cheek to make sure this was truly her. Margaret beamed proudly behind her shoulder.

Soon after, she was ushered out of the bedroom and whisked swiftly down several corridors and a grand sweeping staircase. Surprisingly, she moved effortlessly in the excessive clothing, thankful that soft soled leather boots were the footwear of choice rather than flimsy slippers. It was as though her body remembered how to move about in so many layers of clothing even if she did not recall doing so before.

When they finally stopped, she stood before a large arched doorway with the doors propped open to reveal the dining hall beyond. The dining table was substantial, made of wood with matching chairs. It seemed old and historic situated in the middle of the room surrounded by billowy drapes on the windows and topped with an elegant table setting. Fires roared in a pair of grand fireplaces along the wall opposite the windows. _"And this was not the grandest room in the palace by far,"_ she thought. With a shake of her head, she wondered how she knew this.

Abruptly, a booming voice called out beside her, "Her Majesty, the Queen Consort!" She jumped and stared openly affronted at the herald beside the door who pretended not to notice. She looked back to the dining hall with horror rising in her throat to find that the servants had stopped their work to bow or curtsey.

Her gaze darted about nervously, her mouth suddenly dry. Why didn't they move? It as if they were waiting for her to do or say something. Why could she remember useless things like the grandness of a room but not what to say to these poor people bent at the waist waiting for her?

Another jarring announcement caused her to nearly lose her balance. She let out a soft yelp, reeling about to glare at the herald. "His Majesty, the King!"

Before the curse that had formed in her mind could be uttered, Dimitri was beside her and had taken hold of her hand. She turned to look up at him and he smiled, lacing his fingers through hers. The sight of his smile and the feel of his palm against hers made her forget the fowl name she had planned to call the herald and she looked away at the feel of heat on her cheeks.

He nodded his head to address the room and the servants resumed their business as though some spell had been broken and nothing had occurred to disrupt them.

" _That's_ what they were waiting on," she mumbled to herself, allowing him to lead her toward the table.

"They'd have waited all day for a dismissal," he muttered under his breath to her.

She hadn't realized that he could hear her and she looked up at him with surprise and annoyance. His lips twitched again, stifling a chuckle no doubt. How charmingly infuriating.

At the end of the table, he pulled a high-backed chair out for her and she sat before a decadent table setting. Upon pushing the chair back for her, he bent to subtly brush his lips across her cheek. "You look magnificent today," he said softly before leaving her to take his place at the other end of the table.

She ate in reflective silence, content to watch Dimitri work as couriers arrived with business of varying sorts. The food was delicious, the coffee rich and Dimitri was every inch a king, listening attentively or reading a missive thoroughly before providing a response or direction with unquestionable confidence.

The stream of news and requests was constant but, somehow he managed to eat and drink without seeming harried.

As it turned out, Viscount Kleiman was aging and his health fading. The strain of subjecting the people of Duscar was no longer an easy task for him and his waning military presence. Dimitri was able to leverage this to his advantage when retracting the land awarded the viscount for his role in the decimation of Duscar. It also helped that the viscount had no legitimate children to challenge the redistribution of land.

The division of territory and national boundaries had demanded the latter half of the past year and Dimitri had devoted his full attention and presence to the negotiations. Dedue was instrumental in the drafting and negotiations with what remained of Duscar's governing body. Had he not been present, Dimtiri would not have been able to begin the peace talks, much less complete them. Their ruling council was re-established, formally recognized by the Kingdom of Faerghus and their border was once again defined where it had been before the Tragedy. By royal decree, citizens who had moved to settle on Duscar's land must either be naturalized as citizens of Duscar or relocated within the boundaries of Kleiman's holdings. The foundations had been laid for peace and now it must be protected and nurtured.

For a man who had worked tirelessly since his coronation, Dimitri bore no signs of weariness. He had changed from his riding clothes into a regal, long, blue coat with intricate stitching and scroll-work at the wide cuffs. He had left the coat open and the lace of his undershirt untied, his collarbone displayed tantalizingly from the open neck-line and Byleth realized that he must feel completely at ease and comfortable to be so informal. She studied him from her seat across the table and found that very little had actually changed about him. His features were still angular and strong albeit a new leanness to his cheeks. His shoulders were still as broad though now his chest matched them.

His hair was longer now but still fine and thick, her wandering mind questioned if it would fall past his shoulders when untied. For all the small changes, the most striking and noticeable difference were his eyes. Clear and brilliant, untouched by grief or bereft of sleep, his eyes were striking. Simply watching him from across the table, she could see freedom in his eyes and liberation in his movements. He was no longer burdened by his duty or plagued by loss.

For a moment, she forgot herself and stared openly as he thanked a messenger and dismissed him. Her cup of coffee hovered inches away from her mouth when he caught her eye. He held her in his gaze, warmth radiating from the upward curl of his lips and again she blushed.

A pricking at her eyes signaled tears before she was fully aware of the knot of emotion rising from her chest to her throat. Confused, she lowered her gaze, blinking the first large tear onto her cheek. Her chest suddenly felt expansive and she chuckled as she wiped at her wet cheeks with her hands.

Dimitri was beside her before she heard him rise and was kneeling beside her to see her face fully. "Are you alright? Is something the matter?"

Her laughter built until she could restrain it no longer and it spilt from her lips as tears fell from her eyes. She felt happy, joyful even. This close, she could see his eyes all the more clearly and she found that her observations were true. He was happy and healthy and free!

Unable to contain her joy, she flung her arms around his neck, knocking him off balance to tumble backward. Unwilling to release him, she too fell in a cascade of fabric and fur. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs as he tried to keep her from falling despite her refusal to stop herself.

"Are you alright?" he repeated, fearful that she'd hurt herself.

"Stop worrying so much!" she cried, jubilant in her laughter and tears. Before he could reply, she kissed him fully and at length. She could feel his surprise melt as his arms wrapped around her to embrace her and return her affection in kind.

When she released him, he laughed and raised a hand to tuck an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "I missed you too, Byleth," he whispered, cradling her cheek in the palm of his hand. His hand was so warm. Before she realized what she was doing, she had turned her face to press her lips to his palm.

A cloudy memory was nothing new to her. Her memory would return or it wouldn't and that would be okay. Her spirits soared so high that they could never come down and undoubtable happiness filled her so that she thought she might burst. "I've missed you too, Dimitri."


	2. After Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply to this chapter  
> Tags that apply: Vaginal Fingering, Hallucinations 
> 
> Edit: Cleaning up typos

Shortly after breakfast Dimitri was called away to attend masters of industry and influential merchants. All of them had concerns regarding the new treaty. "To delay meeting with them would cause greater turmoil in the future," he explained, regret evident in his voice as he took his leave of her.

Left to her own devices, the radiant joy that had filled her began to dim and fade into doubt. She assumed that the longer she sat in this place, with these people, the more familiar they would become. But they did not. The corridors and rooms in the palace remained unfamiliar to her and she was hesitant to ask for guidance as she wandered. Everyone she encountered knew her and the idea of alerting them to something amiss seemed disastrous.

Eventually, she found the library. It was modest in size compared to the library at Garreg Mach. This appeared to be a private collection, curated by the royal families that had occupied the palace. She skimmed the titles of thick ancient histories that catalogued bloodlines and possession of crests. There were leather bound, hand written books that might have been journals or ledgers, records of war and great deeds intermingled with myths and legends of past kings and heroes lining all the shelves.

Spying the title _"Loog and the Maiden of Wind"_ Ashe came to her mind and she took the book from the shelf. She wondered how he was now that he was no longer at the monastery. Subsequently, she wondered how all her Blue Lions were fairing.

The troubling thought that some might have perished in the battle defending the monastery sprang up but she tucked it away hurriedly. She would not have allowed any of her students to die so there was no use entertaining such an irrational fear. However, she'd been unable to save her own father. A swift shake of her head banished such thoughts before she could become lost in them.

She needed a distraction while she waited for her memories to return. All of this worrying would have her pacing the grounds like a caged animal and the book in her hands would be just the thing. Snuggling into one of the high-backed, cushioned chairs before the fireplace, she began to read. She'd read this book before but, in such a disorienting place, familiarity of any sort was comforting.

No sooner had she settled than attendants arrived to light the fire for her. She watched them over the cover of her book but none of them even glanced up to her as they worked. A steaming cup of coffee appeared at the table beside her with no trace of who had placed it there. As she studied the cup beside her, the attendants completed their work and dismissed themselves silently. She didn't even hear them leave. It was as though they had evaporated, and the only evidence that they had been there in the first place was a pleasantly crackling fire in the hearth.

Had she truly been able to adjust to living like this? Being dressed as though she were a child was one thing but servants anticipating her needs and meeting them without so much as a word was another. Hoping that she could remember at least something about this place soon, she turned her attention back to her book. Gradually, the peace and quiet of seclusion came for her and, soothed by the soft crackle and occasional pop from the fire, her chin dipped as slumber overtook her.

Byleth spent the day drifting in and out of sleep. Somehow, she could simply not rouse herself. Shaking her head upon waking, she'd look to the book in her lap and discover that she retained nothing on the page. She would note that the sun was a little higher in the sky and the fire a little lower as she stretched before returning to the top of the page only to repeat the process again. She passed the entire day in this way, even munching on the lunch that magically appeared on the table at her elbow but was not able to make it past the first page of the book. That is, until she was roused by one of two familiar voices in the palace.

"My queen, wake up!" It was Margaret. "My, but you must have been exhausted by this morning's excitement."

"What time is it?" Byleth asked, groggily rubbing her eyes.

"It is time to prepare for dinner. You've slept the day away!"

"Dinner?" she asked, still not fully awake.

"Yes!" came the exasperated reply. "You must not make napping like this a habit, your Majesty! Now, come. Come! We must get you ready for dinner."

"Get me ready for dinner?" she repeated, dread beginning to rise from the pit of her stomach.

It was time for dinner and she had to be redressed and groomed. This, she was reminded, was proper and expected of her station. Thankfully, she did not have to be bathed but she was subjected to a new set of highbred labors. These included a corset which was bound so tightly that she thought her crest stone would become dislodged should she try to breathe too deeply, a new thinner sheath dress and a delicate lace gown that plunged at the neckline. For dinner and entertaining, this sort of neckline was acceptable, according to Margaret. Then her hair had to be re-combed and braided and makeup applied to her face. At least she was not expected to do all of this herself or she would not have made it to the grand dining hall at all.

The guests had all arrived when she was announced beneath the arched doorway and Dimitri quickly dismissed himself from the portly gentleman he'd been conversing with near one of the twin fireplaces. He smiled at her and bent to kiss her cheek before escorting her to her seat at the elegantly dressed table.

Dimitri did not have business to attend to over this meal but they were joined by lords and merchants of high rank who had been invited to dine at his majesty's return. It seemed they did not expect her to speak too much aside from gracious acknowledgements of compliments concerning her appearance. Much like that morning, he remained focused on his guests and had few glances to spare her but the food was excellent and Byleth was content to dine and observe her husband as he spoke with his guests.

There was hardly a murmur when Dimitri stood to thank the guests for attending them and beg their forgiveness for his early departure. "I have traveled far this day and there is still much work to be done. Please remain and enjoy the dessert prepared for this evening."

All the guests thanked him and wished him long life and good health. They remained standing as he strode across the hall, stopping by Byleth's chair. "Shall we retire, my queen?"

They walked at a regal pace through the arched doorway and up the grand staircase. Dimitri held his head aloft, eyes forward as they moved. Byleth glanced at him occasionally but he did not turn his head to acknowledge her. Who was this Dimitri, she wondered? If she did not remember their past together, could she believe that he was more than a stranger to her?

Servants in livery lined both sides of the corridor with hands to their chests. As the royal couple passed, they bent at the waist or curtsied low with such precision that Byleth was reminded of clockwork toys she'd seen in the market. Still in silence, they stepped into a room that resembled the chamber she had ruined that morning only it was smaller and less grand in its decor. There were more servants inside who were preparing the room and stopped their work to bow as they stepped over the threshold. Dimitri dismissed them courteously and in mere moments they were finally alone together.

As the door shut behind the servants, Dimitri abruptly dropped her hand from his arm and stepped jovially into the room. "I will never get used to dining so formally," he said, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head to stretch his neck. "Couldn't you see them all bristling with questions about the treaty? It's a wonder any of them ate at all!"

She smiled, watching him revel in his victory. It was evident in his step that he'd been brimming to say this since they left the table though he had hidden it expertly until they were alone.

"I would much rather have dined alone with you," he said, closing the distance between them and taking her cheeks tenderly in his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut as her lips parted slightly in anticipation of the kiss she knew was coming but instead of pressing his lips to hers, he brushed the softest of kisses across her lips and remained so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. It took every ounce of control that she had to stay planted on her feet rather than rolling up to kiss him.

Her breath caught in her throat as she waited to feel him again but when he did not move in to kiss her fully, she opened her eyes. He was gazing down at her, studying her face with an emotion in his eyes that she couldn't name. The ice of his eyes softened as she looked and when he next spoke his voice was heavy and low, "Being apart from you was almost unbearable."

Her stomach leapt but her tone remained composed. "Was it?"

"Yes. How did you manage?"

She studied him for a moment, swallowing to wet her throat and surprsess the urge to confess everything to him. If this was the same Dimitri she had known at the academy, he would understand or even help her regain what she had lost. But how could she be sure?

Even stronger than her cynicism and her doubts was her affection for him. Her face softened as her defenses crumbled beneath the weight of his gaze and the nearness of his lips, exploiting her weakness for him. "I don't know," she answered, almost too softly to hear.

Dimitri dipped his face again to kiss her. His lips felt just as she remembered. Timidly, she returned his kiss, shifting to place her hands lightly on his chest. She could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. It quickened as he released her face to run his hands down her sides stopping to rest on the curve of her hips and sealed his lips to her own.

"I've missed you. So much," he uttered in the short, breathy breaks between kisses, toying with her lips before taking them again.

Her body began to play for his touch. It would be so easy to forget her guilt at her partial truths and let go while in his arms. She felt a low, distant ache began to spread and grow along her inner thighs as his thumbs rubbed back and forth along the tops of her hips. Byleth slid her arms around his neck to draw herself snuggly against him. Dimitri sighed softly against her lips as she pressed against him and he tilted his head to roll his tongue past her lips which had parted eagerly to accept him. He tasted just as she remembered.

The warmth of his gaze, tenderness of his touches and the growing heat of his kisses all suggested that this was the same man she had fought alongside and loved so fiercely. But this was madness! Could she have dared to believe this was possible? In what reality could he have married her, a commoner and mercenary? As though on que, he departed from her lips to speak again before descending along her jawline. "Oh, how I love you.”

Her eyes shot open at this, fixed on the ceiling but not seeing it. He loved her? He declared it as though it should be no surprise and freely without inhibition. What seemed like mere days ago, they had acted on base impulse, primal instinct and strain from grief and loss. She had not begun to process or even come to grips with how she felt about him. Was she capable of loving someone? Wasn't that something reserved for maidens or fairy tales and not for mercenary demons?

Even as she tried to rush through the thoughts and complex weavings of her feelings, her body remained responsive to him, she felt as though she were vibrating beneath his hands and lips. He held her, hands splayed against her lower back, his lips had descended to the curve of her neck. Regardless of the word that would define her feelings, she desired him. She tilted her head back to grant him access to the length of her neck and thought, for now, the truth could wait.

No sooner had she made up her mind not to make up her mind than his mouth brushed past a sensitive spot on her neck. She then felt the smooth heat of his tongue drag across it and her stomach tightened. Her eyes widened in surprise as he pressed his lips and tongue heavily against the same spot and white hot tendrils of pleasure spread like wildfire throughout her. She gasped as he did it again. Her toes curled and her hands shifted to grasp at his shoulders reflexively contracting as he continued.

The graze of his teeth against her neck sent another wave of intense pleasure along her centre and she grasped the hair at the base of his neck. Unsure of whether her intention was to draw him away or to pull him closer she dug her nails into his hair, tangling her fingers in the thick silken strands. In the end, she drew him closer.

She felt him grin against the flesh of her neck and he exhaled a laugh, obviously pleased with himself and the response he had elicited. Pins and needles shot down her legs and they shook as he alternated, tongue, teeth, suck. Subtly, without detection, he moved a hand to cradle the back of her head. She surrendered to him, allowing him to support the full weight of her head and leaned her body flush against him. She could feel his arousal against her straining through his trousers and the memory of holding the length of him in her hands sent heat coursing through her, blazing onto her face and cheeks.

Her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. "What… are you…doing to me," she managed to say, struggling to remain composed despite the deep ache that throbbed at her centre.

All at once, he stopped but she could still feel his breath clearly across her skin as he spoke, "I haven't been gone so long that I would forget." His tongue darted out again to flick across that cursed and glorious spot. The muscles of her stomach clenched in response.

Her nerves were on fire and she gulped at the air as strength returned to her limbs during this respite. She wanted to ask him, demand that he tell her how he knew her body better than she. But she knew. They had done this before. How many times? Unbidden, the doubts and questions she thought she had dismissed rose again. He knew her so well and she did not know him at all.

As though he could hear her thoughts he raised his face from her neck. With hands still shaking from clutching at his clothing and hair, she took his face in her hands, gently brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones. _"Do I know you?"_ she thought.

His brow furrowed and she saw herself reflected in his eyes. "Have I been gone too long?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with apprehension or, perhaps, guilt.

"No," she answered promptly. The thought that he should feel guilty when she was the source of hesitation and uncertainty was too much to bear. She needed him to know that this was not his fault.

"Are you angry with me?" he tried again to understand the strange distance between them.

"No," she insisted again.

"Are you disappointed at my clumsy attempt to seduce you?"

"Hush," she said gently, touching his lips with the tip of her finger and smiling up at him. "You are not clumsy and you could never disappoint me."

He chuckled softly with relief and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Do you remember the first time that I saw you smile?" he asked. She did but he did not pause for her response. "I will never forget. You lead a successful rescue mission and recovered Flayn. Your smile was so… genuine and radiant. I teased you about it. Do you remember?"

Her stomach flipped. Of course she remembered but she dared not fully embrace the slim hope that they shared the same memory and what that could mean. She nodded and he continued.

"It took me a long time and a lot of reflection to learn why I had teased you. I dismissed it at the time but, I wanted to see you smile again and… I wanted to be the reason you smiled."

She could see the truth of his words in his eyes and the rapture growing within her threatened to burst forth. Her breath was caught, squeezing in her chest and she tore her eyes away from his to press her cheek against his chest. The man she held tightly in her arms was her Dimitri and defying the natural order of life, he loved her.

"I know this isn't the first time that I've told you this and goodness knows it won't be the last but… I am reminded of it every time you smile at me," he continued, tenderly caressing the back of her neck.

She smiled, her shoulders raising to hide the joyful tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"I have been gone a long time and I know that life here has been different for you. I know that you must have been so lonely and then to spend another day, today, apart… If the way that I felt being apart from you is even a fraction of what you felt… I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this. What I mean to say is… I'll understand if you need time to…”

"I don't need time," she cut him off, shifting to wipe at her eyes with her wrist.

"You don't?" she couldn't see his face from her position but she could hear the surprise in his voice.

"No," she said, raising her face to meet his gaze. The corner of her lips curled up forming a playful smirk. "I will need help with these buttons." The surprise on his face quickly shifted, his eagerness evident as she stepped back to turn and glance over her shoulder.

She waited but he did not move to close the distance between them. Instead, he hesitated with his hands fidgeting at his sides. He looked nervous which, given the boldness of his kisses only a moment ago, seemed strange.

She smiled encouragingly to him. "I hope that you have not forgotten how to undo them?"

"I…" he cleared his throat still not venturing nearer. "The buttons are so small and delicate. Maybe I should call Margaret to…"

"Dimitri!" she said, her tone shifting to incredulity.

Silenced by her tone he licked his lips, visually steeling himself for the task. "I will try."

Smiling to herself, she turned away from him, holding on to the bodice of the lace gown. She could feel his hands working at the row of tiny buttons that ran down the back of her gown and the purposeful even sound of his controlled breath.

The bodice began to loosen slowly as he worked when suddenly she heard a soft snap followed by the sound of something small and hard bouncing along the floor. She pretended not to notice until it happened again. Dimitri muttered something unintelligible under his breath. She pursed her lips to keep herself from chuckling.

The third time it happened Dimitri sighed. "These buttons are so delicate," he said, frustration obvious in his tone.

"It is a good thing I am not so delicate," she said, glancing over her shoulder to him again. He straightened as though caught doing something he should not be doing and ran his hand down across his lips in frustration.

"I'm sorry," he said, embarrassment evident in his voice and the color on his cheeks. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

The answer was right in front of him but, as she remembered distinctively, Dimitri was never one to think clearly when put on the spot or embarrassed. "Well," she started patiently. "I can't undo them myself and I forbid you to call Margaret. If only there was some other way to open the back of this dress…" She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, feigning ignorance.

"Byleth. I've already tried and you've lost three buttons. You'd think by now I'd be better at this!"

Suppressing a sigh, Byleth lowered her eyes from the ceiling to meet him evenly and directly. "I don't care about the buttons."

The way she looked at him gave him pause and his blinked, considering. "You don't?"

"No," she said, grinning as he caught on to the hints she was bludgeoning him with. "But I do need out of this dress."

His eyes widened for the briefest of moments and he started toward her with an unbridled zeal. "I can do that."

Laughter bubbled up within her and she chuckled, turning her back to him. Once again, she felt his hands on her back. His fingers laced in between the buttons and just as she prepared herself for the sensation and sound of ripping fabric he froze. "You're sure about this?"

"Dimitri!"

"Alright! Alright. I just want to make sure before I destroy your dress." Without another moment's delay, he laced his fingers through the gaps in the fabric and with a shower of buttons he tore the gown open.

She had imagined that the sensation of having the clothing ripped from her body would be exhilarating but, as the fabric of her gown loosened, held up only by her hands at the neckline, she somehow felt out of place. Her breath seemed caught between her stomach and chest and her throat was unusually dry.

Before, their joining had come from a primal need for comfort and connection, this was a quiet, private intimacy that she had never experienced before. The vulnerability she felt was crippling, nearly suffocating but she forced herself to turn to face him. She found that she was trembling and unable to raise her eyes from his chest to his face and her cheeks blazed red as she struggled to overcome this sudden shyness.

She saw his hands twitch at his sides, the tell-tale sign that he longed to touch her but was restraining himself. She could feel his eyes on her face and she begged herself to raise her gaze but he spoke before she could manage. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

"No… " she paused, searching for the words to describe the tangle of fear and embarrassment knotted within her. "I am afraid that I am different than you remember. I feel… vulnerable." Blinking, she looked up to him and found a gentle, understanding smile on his face.

She returned to his arms. His hug was warm and comforting and she pressed her cheek to his chest. "I am afraid too," he confessed. "I might be different than what you remember as well but we could learn again. Together?"

"I would like that."

"Could I help you out of that dress and then," he paused to press his lips to the top of her head. "I'll follow your lead?"

She nodded and lowered her arm from his waist. Glancing shyly up at him through the veil of her eye lashes, she found him smiling gently. Lovingly, he took her hand to balance her as she released the lace gown. It whispered to the floor at her feet and she stepped lightly out of it.

Still unable to look up at him, she focused on the buttons of his coat. One by one, she undid them until it was fully open to reveal the snowy fabric of the shirt beneath. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to his stomach, noting the rigid, taut muscle there. How often had she imagined the feel of his body beneath her hands? And yet, she had not considered the immense pleasure of exploring him with scrupulous care.

Her stomach fluttered as she poured over each isolated part of his torso. Flattening her palms against him she dragged her hands up and then across the tightness of his chest and along the expanse of his shoulders to pull his coat over them.

He stood patiently and still, appearing to be at ease save for the occasional shudder of his breath as her hands traversed the plains of his stomach and chest. She continued to marvel at his musculature as her fingers trailed down the length of his arms. The fine hairs on his arms stood beneath her fingertips.

At long last, his coat fell from his arms and she felt the bare skin of his hands. Her fingers flexed and unfurled along his. She had repositioned these hands countless times on the shaft of a spear or the hilt of a sword and she knew that the power in them was undeniable. She felt his fingers turn in response to her own, these tools of war becoming soft and tender. She wanted to feel them on her body again.

Byleth took his hands in her own and placed them on the curve of her waist, above the hip. His fingers contracted, trembling as he squeezed the soft flesh of her waist gently and then again at the swell of her hips. He began to gather the fabric of her sheath dress, inching it higher into his grasp as he worked his fingers. When the length of the skirt had been gathered, he slipped his hands beneath to feel the softness of her skin there. The pressure of his palms as he ran them up, pulling the fabric with him was electric, stoking a subtle warmth within her stomach. She sighed softly at the feel of those hands touching her again and her eyes slipped shut.

She allowed him to direct her arms, raising them over her head. His touch became feather-light, grazing along her arms as he pulled her dress over her head to expose the tightly bound skin colored corset and white, knee length shorts. She felt several strands of hair pull from her braid and she was suddenly self-conscious but the feel of his hands encircling hers prevented her from adjusting it. Soon, she wouldn't give her hair another thought.

He was so much taller than she remembered. Standing this close to him, she had to look sharply up to his face. He slowly lowered her arms to press his lips to her wrists. The heat of his breath, the softness of his lips and the smooth texture of his tongue sent deep ripples of excitement through her stomach and the sight of his mouth dragging along the flesh of her arm, luxuriating in the suppleness of her skin, stirred heat in the pit of her stomach. Her breasts, lifted and constricted as they were in the corset heaved with her breath.

When he reached the curve of her elbow, he caught her gaze as she watched him and color sprung to her cheeks. His brows furrowed slightly as though his thoughts had suddenly become heavy and she looked away quickly.

She heard him make a soft decisive sound and when she turned her face to look at him again, the King of Faerghus lowered himself to his knees in front of her. Her embarrassment blazed across her cheeks but, before she could protest or pull at him to rise, he wrapped his arms around her to draw her close enough to press his forehead against her stomach.

Gazing down at the top of his golden head, she was reminded of their first joining, how she had pressed her lips there, committing the scent of him to her memory and longing to hold him forever. She held his head tenderly in her trembling hands.

"I will never leave your side again," he said with the solemnity of someone swearing a great oath. "Now that my father's work is nearing completion, nothing can tear me from your side, my beloved. I swear this to you."

Her sigh released with it all the uncertainty and sorrow she had carried since that night. They could and would be together through whatever fate had been gracious and merciful enough to allow this to come to pass.

Slowly and reverently, he released her and shifted back to remove her shoes for her. He then placed his hands on the bare skin of her calves to rove up toward her thighs, thumbs and palms heavy on the outside of her legs. When he reached her thighs, he rose onto his knees again. The fabric of her undergarment was thin giving the feel and illusion of his hands touching her skin directly as he raked them upward, exploring the thick muscles of her thighs.

At the top of her thighs he dragged his thumbs along crease there, inching closer to the sensitive joining between her legs. Her stomach tightened and her legs flexed beneath his caress but instead of venturing further between, he continued back and forth as though coaxing a fire to life. Indeed, the pressure and continued motion sparked a deep burning that ran from her thighs up through her groin and it spread, intensifying as he worked.

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip to stifle the sounds threatening to accompany her breath. She craved his touch and the taste of him. The continual motion of his fingers and the fire beginning to burn within her drove her to take hold of his face and angle it upward so that she could bend to kiss him. She crushed her lips fiercely against his and released a groan against his mouth as her tongue aggressively sought his. Dimitri's breath carried pleased sounds of his own as their lips and tongues matched the motion and heat between hands and body.

Her thighs began to shake and the sounds coming from her became labored with her breath. Her legs threatened to buckle and she gripped his shoulders again to steady herself, unwilling to break from his lips. Much to her dismay, he slowly began to drag his hands away from her centre, down the front of her thigh while his thumbs maintained heavy pressure against the tense inner muscle. Her breath drew out into pants and the burning he had created became a deep throbbing within her. Her innermost muscles quivered as he began his next ascent continuing to massage her tender, flexed muscles, thumbs drawing even closer to her most intimate space.

Again, he stopped just short of the mound between her legs, rubbing in arcs that just grazed along her lips with his thumbs. Her frustration and anticipation were plainly expressed in the heat of her kisses and the involuntary rock of her hips as she tried to relieve the pressure of the painful ache within her.

Reading her body as though it were text on a page, Dimitri's hand slid up, pushing flat through the seam of her legs which she spread with little prompting. Byleth moaned with relief at the feel of his palm against the throbbing between her thighs and rocked forward grinding against his hand. They soon fell into an intimate rhythm with a rock of his palm and the grind of her hips. Her breath became light again as she moved. The jolts of smoldering pleasure raced through her as the heel of his palm rubbed against the sensitive gathering of nerves at the peak of her slit and his fingers probed through the fabric of her undergarments which had grown damp with her arousal.

Her head began to swim and she gasped for air by breaking her lips away from his. Her ribs attempted to expand but the restriction of the corset bit against her. "Dimitri," she said breathlessly, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. "Please… the corset…"

She straightened and swayed slightly. He steadied and turned her in an instant with hands on her hips. He must have begun fumbling with the lacing because when it did not loosen she panted an additional direction, "Quickly!"

He needed no further instruction and the next sound she heard was the popping of metal rings and the tearing of stitching as he ripped the corset open. Byleth exhaled in relief and her lungs, newly freed, seemed to billow with air. The cold of the room rushed in against her skin, damp with sweat, and goose bumps sprang up all over her.

Despite the cold, her blood was on fire, pulsing molten desire through her veins. So, this is what it felt like to have one's clothes torn passionately apart! She threw what remained of the shredded corset aside before returning to dip and gather his face in her hands. Her hunger for him was ever present and she deepened her kiss.

His breath caught this time as she aggressively fell against him and in the process of catching her his appetite for the feel of her skin was whetted. The flesh of her stomach and back, most often hidden beneath her clothing or armor was soft and smooth from lack of exposure. He could not touch enough of her skin at once to satiate his need to feel her and he raked his hands up her back and down her ribs.

Sharing in the need to feel the skin of her lover, she dropped her hands to gather the fabric of his shirt as he kissed her hungrily. Their tongues clashed and they were loath to part long enough for him to raise his arms to wriggle out of his shirt. The process loosened his hair from its tie and it fell across his face, golden and gleaming in the light of the fire. She raked her fingers through it, pulling it away from his face. It felt like silken threads in her fingers.

One of his hands glided across her ribs to palm the underside of one of her breasts, lifting it and toying lightly with the weight of it. As the rough calluses of his fingers fanned across her nipple the sensitive flesh hardened, springing to life in response to his touch.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, at her breast, back, hip, slipping through the pant line of her remaining undergarments to cup and squeeze the cheek of her bottom. Gripping her backside firmly, he dragged her against him and in the process ripped his lips from hers to press to her stomach which quivered in response. He pulled his hand out from her clothing to hold her tightly along the small of her back keeping her in place as he indulged in the taste of sweat on her skin.

She shut her eyes, intent on feeling the texture of his hair in her fingers, his hand massaging her breast and his lips pressed then dragging lower to her navel and then below. His breath was hot, coming in bursts from his nose and mouth as he moved. Her body sang for him and her lips parted to emit soft, heated sensual sounds in time with her panting breath.

Her stomach flexed and her insides clenched as he suddenly tilted his head and ran his tongue provocatively along and under the band of her small clothes. Her toes flexed as he moved slowly, wetly across her skin.

"Dimitri…" her voice quivered as she spoke.

"Yes?" he answered, barely raising his lips from her skin long enough to be understood. His voice was low in his throat.

"Will you…" her knees shook as his tongue once again dipped below the line of her breaches.

"Anything," he muttered.

She paused, hearing the promise in his response. "Lower?"

She felt his grin spread wickedly against her skin before he wrapped his arms around her legs to lift her effortlessly as he rose to his feet. An uncharacteristic squeak slipped out of her as her feet left the ground, silenced by the return of his lips to hers. With swift and intrepid confidence, she was lifted, shifted and lowered to stand and then sit in one of the high-backed chairs situated before the fire.

He pulled away from her lips and she followed until she was forced to part from him or fall forward from the chair. Their chests heaved with their breath and his lips were flush as she imagined hers were as well. He looked unearthly, kneeling before her, backlit by the fire which set his hair alight. It glistened and fell wildly about his face. The shadows cast along him sharply defined the build of his shoulders and chest.

He rose to his knees to take her chin tenderly in his hand. He pressed his thumb to her lips which she took into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it before biting lightly. The action yielded the desired result, a visible shiver passed through his body.

With a feral laugh, he gripped the back of her head and kissed her with such ferocity that her feet flexed. Just as she began to respond in kind, he ripped his lips from hers to kiss along her jaw and then her neck. His hands gripped her thighs again, thumbs resuming their work along her flexed thighs. She squirmed in the chair as his lips, tongue and teeth ravaged the skin along her collarbone and down to her chest. She tangled her hands in his hair, desperate for something to hold on to. His mouth would be at her breasts in a moment and her nipples hardened, flushing crimson in anticipation.

At last, he took her breasts into his hands, lifting the left to drag his tongue along the round, fleshy top. His breath carried with it the sound of his enjoyment and she flexed her hands in his hair to pull firmly at the roots. His breathy sounds became a fully vocalized groan as she tugged. As if in response to the pull, he closed his mouth over the bumps which had risen on her areola and her flushed, erect nipple. The hot wetness of his tongue lapped back and forth on her nipple and his opposite hand began to massage her other breast more firmly. Byleth arched her back, her breath becoming ragged as he sucked.

So enraptured was she in the movements of his tongue she did not notice his hand leave her right breast until she felt him lay hold of the soft flesh of her hips to drag her forward, positioning her on the edge of the chair. A thrill spiked throughout her at the unspoken command in his direction. With a smack, he parted his lips from her breast and without pause resumed his descent, dragging his lips and tongue down her stomach, reveling once again in the suppleness of her skin.

As he came to the band of her under garments he pushed her legs further apart to rest on either side of his shoulders. The ache in her legs ran all the way up through her centre and she realized she'd been compressing her knees as the pressure built within her. She opened her legs at his touch and Dimitri dragged his hands with excruciating slowness and exquisite pressure up her inner thighs beginning just above the knee. Unable to keep hold of his hair, she untangled her fingers and clutched at the ornate arms of the chair.

She felt herself begin to coil and wind with mounting pressure as he neared her most intimate place which had begun to throb in anticipation. When he reached the threshold of her, he dug both thumbs into both sides of her, following the crease between her outer lips and thigh. She could feel both the pressure of his thumbs externally and the pressure of her outer folds pushing together against her swollen inner lips. She could not suppress a wanton moan as he repeated this motion several times in succession.

Her legs twitched as pleasure raced through her groin and thighs. Back and forth he continued, watching her chin lift with each gasp for breath. She bit her lip and tried futilely to be still but her toes and fingers flexed in time with his movements, her nails dug into the wood of the chair arms. Finally, after endless teasing, he placed a hand over her mound through the damp fabric of her small clothes and dragged his palm heavily along the length of her opening. He rocked his palm slightly as he progressed as though he were looking for something but the pressure itself and the heat from his hand kept her panting and craving more.

All at once, the heel of his palm rocked over the small bundle of nerves at the peak of her slit and a long guttural moan burst from her lips. Had her eyes been open, they would have rolled back into her head which she tossed back sharply at the rocking pressure he applied. Had her eyes been open, she would also have seen the hungry way Dimitri watched her, writhing in the chair under his touch, still partially clothed.

Each roll of his hand sent waves of heat raging through her centre. As he slowly increased the speed she could feel her inner lips burning, her inner muscles tightening. Her mouth hung open and her hands continued to clutch and grasp at the arms of the chair. Low, long groans and moans accompanied her panting breaths and her legs strained, pushing in against Dimitri's broad shoulders.

Again, he slowed and she felt his free hand move to the waist line of her breeches. Frenzied in her ecstasy, she nearly ripped the clothing from her legs as she assisted him in their removal. Having only a moment's reprieve did not prepare her for the euphoria of his bare hand against the lips of her sex.

His fingers splayed in the curled, dark hair that feathered outward from between her legs, just above the spot where his palm continued rocking at a fast but steady pace. Her skin was on fire and she could think of nothing but the divine pleasure coursing throughout her with each move of his hand.

In mere moments of resumed stimulation, she noticed the coiled pressure building inside of her. Her whole body throbbed and just as her innermost muscles began to contract within her Dimitri gently spread her outer lips apart and entered her with a single finger.

Her eyes shot open and her back arched as the velvety walls within her began to contract around his finger. He did not need to push deeply, nor did he, but he began to slide out and back inside of her, adding a second as her body stretched to accommodate him. The wetness of her arousal lubricated his movements and her body longed to hold fast to him each time he withdrew. The friction between the clinging of her muscles and the steady thrust of his fingers tightened the pressure within her, winding the white-hot tendrils of pleasure that had spread throughout her tightly along her centre.

In. Out. Up. Down. The pressure became so great that she could stand it no longer. "Faster," she panted and he obliged. Then all at once, her breath caught in her chest and her entire body went rigid but he did not cease his movements. Time stopped and the world around her stretched until it snapped in twain and her breath roared out of her along with a strangled cry.

Her inner muscles clamped down tightly around Dimitri's fingers, the pressure again sending shockwaves of burning ecstasy through her hips down to her toes. She could hardly remember to breath as she shook violently in the quake of her climax. Gasping for air, the tremors within her ebbed. She gazed at the ceiling and shuddered as he withdrew his hands.

His tongue was once again on her body, moving up as he rose from his kneeling position on the floor. She sat up languidly to meet him, wrapping her legs around his waist. He leaned into her, the warmth and firmness of his stomach solid against her sex still dripping from her orgasm. He looked like he was about to say something but rather than give him the chance, she took hold of his face in her hands and kissed him, drinking in the taste of him and suggestively rolling her tongue into his mouth. No sooner had the kiss begun than she broke away with a smack. They searched one another's eyes for a moment before mirrored wicked smiles spread across their faces.

"You can't be through with me yet, can you?" she asked, intoxicated by the feel of his body against her.

"Never," he said with such sincerity that she was certain the crest stone in her chest would melt. "What should we do now?"

"This time," she said, grinning up at him. "You take the lead."  


* * *

"How can this be," she wondered to herself as she lay watching her lover sleep beside her bathed in firelight from the gently crackling flames filling the hearth. Not her lover, she reminded herself, her husband.

He lay on his side, his face partially obscured by the pillow that supported his head and she could see his lashes resting dark against his pale skin. His breath came soft and rhythmic as he slept deeply, the expression on his face relaxed and peaceful.

Her gaze drifted to admire the lean musculature of his chest, shoulder and arm all left outside of the blankets and she smirked at the remnants of red scratch marks blazing along the curve of his shoulder. Remnants of their love-making could be seen on her as well and she fingered the bite marks on her neck. Her body still hummed her from her recent climax and, had he not traveled so far to return home, Dimitri might have remained awake to enjoy her once again before daybreak.

She longed to remember how she had come to this place. Her memories were still hazy or missing altogether after the battle at Garreg Mach. She remembered Dimitri vividly, sleep deprived and tortured in the days leading up to the confrontation. She remembered the bitter sweetness of their coupling the night before and accepting that it could never happen again. And yet, as evidenced by today's events, it did.

Letting her gaze wander about the room, Byleth spied a porcelain pitcher of water and its matching basin along with a set of crystal tumblers on the dressing table. The evening's vigor suddenly caught up with her and she discovered that she was incredibly thirsty. The thirst was strong enough to tempt her away from the warmth of the blankets and the soothing sound of Dimitri's breathing.

Even in the warmest moons of the year, the nights in Fhirdiad were frigid. No sooner had she slipped out from under the blankets than the cold air rushed in to nip at her nakedness. Rather than recoil Byleth wrapped an extra fur around her shoulders from the mountain of blankets on the bed.

The cold of the tiled floor was shocking against her bare feet as she scampered over to the dressing table and the soft rug peeking out from beneath it. Wiggling her toes in the plush fibers, she sighed in relief.

Dimitri shifted in bed behind her and she watched him in the mirror as he rolled onto his back and tucked an arm behind his head. Dark red marks ran along the pale perfection of his chest and side in addition to those on his shoulder. She chuckled softly, remembering the hissing sound he'd made when she'd given those to him and the ferocious passion of his response.

Turning to her reflection in the mirror mounted above the dressing table, her chuckle nearly became a giggle as she worked to undo what remained of her braid. Color sprang to her cheeks as she recalled the feel of Dimitri's fingers tangled and pulling those strands a little while ago. The memory sent tingles through her stomach and chest.

Her blush began to burn as she revisited in her mind's eye turning onto her stomach, face and hands buried into the fur atop their bed, her hips held high. Dimitri's arms had supported his weight on either side of her, their skin was slick with sweat. His breath had been hot on the back of her neck. Her stomach leapt as she remembered his voice, low and heated in her ear, "Please. Do not hold back. Let me hear you."

This previously unexplored position allowed him to bury himself so deep within her that she could not stifle the sounds of her pleasure with each movement of his hips. Then, he had shifted his weight onto a single arm, the other wrapping across her stomach to cup and massage her breast in time with the movement of his thrusts. It was no wonder that her throat was parched.

As she took the tumbler in her hand, the firelight filling the room began to dim. They must have stayed up the whole night together for the fire to be dwindling noticeably she thought. Suddenly, she felt as though she were being watched and she clutched the fur even tighter about her.

Dimitri was still sleeping soundly in the bed behind her, she could plainly see him in the mirror. She looked all around, feeling silly as she swept the room looking for what? A ghost hiding in the corner? A spy looking through the window? Not finding anything out of place, she shook her head dismissing the feeling as exhaustion.

Shifting the fur to rest atop her shoulders, she took the pitcher which was deceptively heavy and began to pour water into the glass. The pitcher was noticeably heavy. Heavier than it ought to be. Again, she dismissed this because of muscle fatigue and focused on the task at hand. As she watched the water swirl and pool in the delicate crystal, she found herself transfixed by the light reflected through the liquid. The water and crystal seemed to sparkle as she watched it flow.

The light captured in the glass began to intensify until a particular point of light sparked so brightly that she winced, bumping the pitcher against the rim of the crystal which rang out musically. The sound which should have dissipated quickly did not. Much to her confoundment, the ringing grew louder and sharper in pitch until it pierced her ears and seeped into her teeth which she gritted against the shrill sound.

Confusion and fear rose amidst the ringing and abruptly she put the pitcher down with a thunk against the wood that sounded as loud as a tree splitting in a windstorm. Her stomach leapt at the sudden sound and she raised her free hand to instinctively push against an ear and the side of her head.

Just when she thought she could bear the ringing no longer, it ceased abruptly. Blinking and working her jaw against the clenching of her teeth, Byleth cautiously looked around the room again. Everything was peaceful but the feeling of being observed remained. Swallowing, she slowly readjusted the fur about her shoulders. Wary of her surroundings, she gripped the glass with both hands to hold against her chest as though it were some sort of shield or weapon.

Dimitri continued to sleep, blissfully unaware that anything unnatural had occurred. Certainly that had been a headache brought on by dehydration and lack of sleep. Still, she looked about as though she expected something to spring out at her as she raised the glass to her lips.

Before she could drink, her gaze settled on the surface of the water where the tiniest ripples were spreading across the surface. Small as they were, they caught the firelight along their peaks, moving like red silken threads.

As she watched, the ripples became more pronounced and the glass itself began to vibrate in her hand. No, not the glass, her hands were vibrating and causing the ripples within the glass. Her eyes widened at this and the sensation deepened into a low hum buzzing in the bones of her fingers. The sound was soft and deep, barely audible in the silence of the room but audible nonetheless. She could feel the vibrations spreading up her fingers, past her wrist and up her arms.

Powerless to stop its progression, she observed with mounting horror that the humming resonance spread through her chest, waves from her left and right arms crashing together where she knew her heart should be, where the crest stone was mounted within her rib cage. The vibration slowed but the humming continued to deepen until a thrum deep as a quake within the earth filled her, rattling every bone in her body, pushing against her skin. The echo chamber of her body reflected the waves back and the sound bounced forcefully within her, ricocheting up through her neck, straining against her ear drums.

The sudden crippling sensation wracked her breath from her body and she gasped as a piercing, splinter shot through her temples, forking to meet above her eyes on her forehead. The strength left her hands and the glass slipped from her grip to shatter on the floor. The dark seemed to close in on her vision as the pain pressed down into her eyes and as she turned to hold on to the table for support her eyes fell on the mirror.

She gasped loudly and icy fear shot through her limbs. Looking back at her was not her own image but that of a girl with flowing, wild green hair and a golden head piece. Her long ears peeked out from behind thick braids and the stern expression on her face did not match her youthful appearance. Her eyes were the most unsettling, green and deep, alight with judgement and fire.

"Byleth," the girl said in a sing-song voice that did not match the heat in the eyes which bored into her.

Byleth stumbled backward, nearly colliding with Dimitri who had awoken at the sound of shattering glass and vaulted from the bed behind her. She jumped again and shouted as he caught her, his hands steadying on her waist and shoulders. "Byleth, what's happening?" he asked, though she did not hear him.

The pain above her eyes had spread like a cap over her skull which throbbed as though it might explode or combust or both. Squeezing her eyes shut against the low, heavy vibration assailing her ear drums, she clutched at her head, doubling over. She was vaguely aware of his voice but could not discern what he said.

The world shifted around her and her feet left the floor. Dimitri had picked her up and was moving toward their bed. Her head lolled back and the mirror entered the periphery of her vision. What she had seen before was no longer there. All that remained was her head and legs visible on either side of Dimitri's body reflected as he carried her to their bed.

The soft mattress and pillows provided little comfort as she sank down into them but the deep humming that had produced the painful vibrations was fading. The sensation of Dimitri's hand on her face seemed far away. She could hear the sound of his voice calling her name but it sounded distant and muffled as though she were submerged in water. Concentrating on the sound of his voice and the warmth of his hands on her body, both touch and sound became clearer and the pain began to subside.

"Are you hurt? Tell me what is wrong!" he was saying, fear beginning to tinge his voice.

Her vision began to sharpen as she continued to focus on him. She tried to speak, to reassure him that she was alright but her tongue was sluggish and she coughed. Dimitri's face vanished from her field of vision for only a moment and then he was lifting her head to press a glass to her lips.

She drank and coughed again. The pain had faded into a low throb and she suddenly felt sleepy, so sleepy that she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. Again, she focused on Dimitri who was silently watching her with lips thin and forehead furrowed.

"Byleth," he said softly when she managed a slight smile. "Are you alright?"

She nodded hesitantly, wincing at the soreness that remained in her head and neck.

"What can I do? Should I call for the physician?"

"No," she said weakly. "I just need to rest." Her eyes were so heavy but she did not want to stop gazing at him until the worry evident there had been relieved.

"What happened?"

"I thought I saw…" she mumbled, her eyes slipping shut.

"What?" he asked, giving her a gentle shake at the shoulders.

Her eyes popped open only to sag shut again. "A girl… in the mirror…" her breathing became deep and even as she started to drift off to sleep. She could hear his voice again, calling her name as though from a vast distance.

"Hold me?" she asked lazily as the world faded into darkness. She felt his weight settle onto the bed next to her and the soft blankets wrap around her. Then his warm, supportive arm draped over her stomach before drawing her firmly against the length of his body. She nestled herself against him, sighing contentedly.

She let the vision in the mirror dissolve as her body relaxed, encased in warmth and supported by her lover and she drifted away to sleep and whatever dreams might come.


	3. Memories and Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply to this chapter.   
> No tag warnings apply to this chapter. 
> 
> Edit: Cleaning up typos

Soft morning light streamed through the windows to wash across her face and rouse her. Byleth yawned loudly and stretched her arms and legs against the early morning ache that accompanies a deep dreamless sleep. She must not have moved all night.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, the mirror on the wall shifted into focus and she was reminded of what had happened the night before. The broken glass remained on the floor near the dressing table where she had dropped it along with the fur that had fallen from her shoulders. Her head and neck were sore even after her initial stretch. It had not been a dream.

Before she could fully recall the frightful encounter at the dressing table, a sigh and stretch behind her reminded her that she was not alone. She rolled over to find Dimitri finishing a sleepy stretch that had his arms flexed over his head. The bare skin of his chest looked smooth and soft in the morning light and the urge to drag her fingers along the length of his torso overcame her.

Feeling her gaze on him, he peeked at her through narrowed eyes and grinned. Sighing again sleepily, he wrapped an arm around her bare waist to drag her against his side. He moved her as though she weighed nothing and the sensation sent thrills across her skin. The feel of his warm bare skin beneath her own was at once comforting and arousing, despite the ache in her head. A deep pleasured sound rumbled in his throat as the feel of her skin against him had a similar effect. It was with lazy effort that she shifted to straddle him and rest her head across his chest.

Dimitri, trying to wake more fully, stretched again beneath her and she felt the length of him harden between her legs. She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the sound of his heart and breath until he relaxed once again. "How are you feeling?" he asked, raising a hand to stroke her hair.

" 'm fine, " she muttered, turning her face to press her lips heavily against his skin which proved to be as soft as newly tanned leather. He sighed deeply again and she felt a satisfying twitch from his morning erection between her legs.

"I've never seen you like that before, Byleth. You could barely speak," he insisted. She clung to him as he shifted to prop himself up on his pillows and nestled against his chest, making it even more difficult for him to see her face but it did not deter him. "I'm worried about you."

With a puffed exhale, she ceased her burrowing and replaced her cheek to his chest. She took her lower lip between her teeth, fretting as she considered. She could simply blame it on exhaustion. There was no need to tell him about her memory right now. But if she did not tell him now, when would her next opportunity present itself? More than once, her breath caught as words nearly tumbled out of her but a second thought stopped her. Instead, she tightened her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze and hoping he would lose interest in this line of questioning. But he did not.

"Whatever it is that you want to say, please say it."

Her father often told her to trust her gut and it had not only saved her life but the lives of her students. He would also have told her to grit her teeth and do what she had to do, no matter what it was. Even though this advice had often been employed on the battlefield, it was applicable here, much to her chagrin. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and did just that; listened to her gut.

"My head and neck are a little sore," she began slowly. "Other than that, I feel fine." Again, she chewed her lip, knowing and dreading the rest. Her stomach churned with such ferocity that she thought she might be sick but the feel of his fingers in her hair and his thumb brushing tenderly across her temple soothed her anxieties. Perhaps he would not persist and she could rest here against his cool, taut skin.

"I'm glad there's no pain beyond that but that's not all you have to tell me, is it?"

Byleth sighed heavily but the restlessness in her stomach did not go away. She sat up to slide from the warmth and comfort of his body, gathering the bedding around her as she did. Watching her with calm concern, he made no move to cover himself as the bedding slid off his body like silk on marble.

Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her knees beneath the blankets. It was desperately difficult to focus with the sheer perfection of him reclined before her. She resolved to look directly into his eyes before she spoke but her gaze wandered across his form like an adolescent girl observing from the sidelines of the training yard.

Her words collected in her throat, her cheeks glowed a darker shade of red and she clenched at the blankets until her hands shook and she could stand it no longer. Squeezing her eyes shut to block the sight of him from her periphery she blurted out, "I have no memory of marrying you or coming here.”

Her statement had tumbled out of her in such a rush that she breathed a sigh of relief before looking up to Dimitri's face. He looked more confused than startled as she sat in expectant silence. As he realized she was waiting for a response, she saw the confusion shift quickly into dismissal. He must think that this was a joke.

He sat up and chuckled but the wry expression on his face faded upon reading her face. "You're not joking, are you?"

She shook her head apologetically but kept her eyes downcast. Her cheeks burned with the intensity of her blush as she caught a glimpse of stomach and chest, his musculature perfectly contoured in the soft morning light and shadows. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"Yesterday. I woke up yesterday morning not knowing where I was."

His eyebrows lowered as he tried to reconcile the impossibility of what she was telling him. "I suppose that would explain a few things," he admitted slowly. "So you don't remember the day I left for Duscar?"

"No."

"The night before I left for Duscar?"

"No, Dimitri."

"Tell me you remember our wedding. The archbishop came to Fhirdiad to officiate. The Cardinal was beside himself! Come now, you don't remember? _Seteth_ cried!"

As his frustration grew she couldn't help her annoyance. Did he think that if his list was long enough she should remember; that her memory would just spring forth? She looked at him blankly with no recollection of what he was describing and gave a slight shake of her head.

He folded his arms dejectedly and muttered, " _I_ cried, for goddessake."

Seeing him this close to a pout softened whatever anger had been building within her. Inching a bit closer to him she ventured a meek question, "Did I cry?"

Dimitri smiled fondly. "No. You said you almost did but I suspect you said that for my benefit." He looked at her, evaluating. Perhaps he still thought she was playing a joke on him. "You're sure that you don't remember a single day together?"

"Yes," she insisted though her patience was once again fraying and yet, he doggedly continued to test her supposed missing memory. "Now please could you cover yourself up?" she asked, flicking a wrist at him as she averted her eyes again. "It's impossible for me to concentrate with you… like that."

"Like what?" he asked with all the innocence of someone accustomed to being undressed her presence. Byleth's eyes bulged as she looked at him incredulously and the color in her cheeks spread like wildfire to her face. Unable to articulate it, she cleared her throat harshly and allowed her eyes to dart up and down his body.

"What? Oh!" He too cleared his throat as a blush to rival her own sprang along his cheekbones. With all the grace of someone wishing to maintain their dignity while rushing at the same time, he sat up to cover his lap with one of his pillows. "Don't tell me that last night was the first time you remember…" his voice trailed off but the insinuation was clear and she sniffed indignantly.

"No! It was the second."

"Second?!" he choked. "My goddess... " It was his turn to take a moment to collect himself and she watched in silent amusement as he cycled through any number of questions and statements before he could ask a clear question. "When was the first time… that you remember…?"

The memory of their first joining was still so clear in her mind as though it had only happened a few nights ago. Recalling it brought about a bitterness and sadness that she had not fully addressed and she looked away from him as she spoke. "I remember the night before the battle at Garreg Mach."

As though someone had doused him with cold water, Dimitri ceased his nervous shifting and stared fixedly on her face. "I see. And after that?"

"The battle. I remember fighting the Adrestian army at the gates of Garreg Mach." Dimitri's face darkened as she spoke. It was clear that he remembered the battle too but wished that he did not. "I remember our plan to get you to Edelgard but…" she paused, furrowing her brow in concentration. "She escaped and the archbishop transformed into a giant beast… a dragon." Her recollection of the day was returning to her quickly now and she spoke at a feverish pace.

"She razed the field, pushing the army back but the Adrestian army had demonic beasts and they attacked the archbishop so I charged them with the Sword of the Creator and... " The words died on her lips as the fog clouding her memory returned, much thicker than before. "Something… Something happened to me?"

Dimitri watched with weighted sobriety as she thought. When the memory did not present itself, Byleth met his gaze. "What happened to me?"

He smiled and looked, to her, a little sad as he took her hands and soothingly stroked the tops with his thumbs. "You were injured during the counter assault. Your strategy worked like a dream but … the healers were focused on me and my team. They were out of range when you launched your flanking attack."

Byleth frowned and looked away.

"The archbishop herself tended to your wounds and you made a full recovery," Dimitri continued. "I was… preoccupied and didn't realize what had happened until you'd already been removed from the battle field."

The horror of that preoccupation flashed across her imagination and her eyes darted back to him. It was his turn to avert his eyes, lowering them as shame crept across them. "While I was distressed to learn of your injuries, I was also glad that you did not witness me in that state."

"I am not proud of what I did," he continued softly, his gaze growing distant. His hands tightened around her own. "It had to be done and imagine how many lives would have been lost if we hadn't prevailed." Boldness and defiance leapt onto his face as he met her eyes again. She was certain that the boldness was for her benefit and the defiance for himself. What he may not realize was, he did not need to convince her.

Byleth smiled in what she hoped was a kind reassuring way. Seeing him slip back into guilt conjured all sorts of memories of their time at the academy. She never wanted to see him suffer like that again. "You did what had to be done."

She touched his face, rough with stubble so pale that it glinted in the sunlight. He leaned into her palm and closed his eyes. Warmth swelled within her, knowing that her touch could provide him with relief and she forgot the distress of a flawed recollection. What did it matter if she couldn't remember the battle itself? They had triumphed and Dimitri had slain his demons figuratively and literally.

He made a deep, soft sound of contentment before turning to kiss her palm. With the finality of someone who had come to a decision he straightened. "Come, my beloved! We have a lot of catching up to do if we are to restore your memories!"

Dimitri sprang from the bed to gather clothing for the day. "I understand now why you let Margaret dress you. I thought you were trying something different to welcome me home." A single eyebrow shot up at this. Did he mean to say that she'd been needlessly subjected to such torture? "You often dress for morning training but then become too busy to be bathed and changed." He laughed. "Margaret will never give up now that you've shown her she can bully you into it!"

Byleth was relieved to find plenty of clothing more suited to her sense of style. Among the dresses and formal attire, she found richly woven leggings and pants along with thick doublets and fur lined cloaks. Alongside delicate slippers she found boots of varying heights and shades of expertly worked leather.

They were in no hurry to dress themselves and Byleth asked questions freely. Dimitri regaled her with stories of the years she was missing from the academy and her first days in Fhirdiad. No detail was too minute and he expounded liberally until her mind brimmed with memories she hoped to recall on her own eventually. Byleth was so enrapt in a retelling of her first rebellion against Margaret's morning rituals, she did not realize she'd approached the dressing table and mirror.

The crunch and soft grinding screech of glass against the stone beneath the sole of her boot jarred her attention. A glance beneath her boot found the shattered remains of the crystal tumbler from the night before. Ice encased her stomach as she realized she was standing before the mirror and she focused her eyes hard on a brush on the table, fearful of what she would see in the mirror if she should look up.

Dimitri's voice trailed off and she heard him approaching. "Are you okay?"

She felt like a child who was suddenly afraid of ghosts in a dark room. Despite the fear in her stomach she forced herself to raise her eyes to find only herself and Dimitri's reflections looking back. Feeling foolish, she nodded.

"You said you saw something in the mirror last night. Do you remember what it was?" he asked gently.

She took a deep breath and raised her hand to the glass. She pressed her fingertips lightly to the cool surface and the pane bowed slightly beneath the pressure. "A girl with fierce eyes. She knew my name."

Recalling the image brought the hair on her arms to stand at attention. The contrast of such a youthful face and the grim ancient eyes had a profound effect on her, even in broad daylight as she remembered it. The girl had been startlingly familiar and angry about something she couldn't pin down. Had the girl been angry at her?

"If you press any harder, you'll break the glass," Dimitri said soothingly. As though he'd broken her out of a trance, she realized that she'd been pushing against the glass as though to pass through it. She pulled her hand back, cradling it protectively. As afraid as she was of this mysterious girl, Byleth found that she longed to see her again.

The next moment, Dimitri's warm hands closed on her slender shoulders to turn her gently. "You look afraid but you don't have to be. I will always protect you."

Sighing softly, she melted against him, allowing him to support her. He took her chin in his hand to raise her face and heat filled her cheeks at the softness of his lips pressed against her own. She returned his affection in kind, hoping that he could feel her devotion in her kiss.

"Your Majesties," came a hesitant voice, muffled through the door. The call was followed by an equally tentative knock.

Dimitri pulled away from her with a sharp irritated intake of breath. She returned his long-suffering smile with one of her own. "Enter," he called as he shifted to stand beside her and face the door.

As soon as the door had opened wide enough to permit it, the young servant behind it bowed at the waist with his hand to his heart. "Your Majesties, pardon the interruption but, Margrave Gautier's son, Sylvain, has just arrived and is urgently insisting that he speak with you both."

Beyond the servant, the muffled sound of voices drifted down the corridor. "When we pressed him for the reason, he became… agitated." For sound to have reached them this far from the grand hall it would have to be very loud indeed.

"Of course we will see him. You know he is a long-standing friend. There's no need to interrogate him." Dimitri replied with no attempt to hide the exasperation in his voice. But as he moved toward the door, the servant straightened and appeared to brace himself to remain in place blocking the door. "Is there more?" demanded Dimitri, his patience beginning to thin.

"Yes, your Majesty. He seems, unwell, your Majesty."

"Unwell? What do you mean?"

The guard licked his lips nervously. "He is raving and wild. We cannot persuade him to tell us what has brought him to the castle and he insists that he can speak only to you and the Queen, whom he calls the Professor."

"Then it must be very urgent." He attempted once again to step past the young man and when he did not move Dimitri sighed. "I know that you mean well, but I assure you that we'll be alright."

The young man nodded but moved aside slowly as though questioning the wisdom in it. The sounds of disagreement grew as they neared the grand staircase and, despite his dismissal of the guard's warning, Dimitri quickened his pace. She had to step lively to keep up with his long strides and as they neared the grand staircase, she could finally make out what was being said.

"I don't know how many times I need to tell you that this is urgent. I must speak with Dimitri now. Let me through!" The cool quality of his voice was strained with frustration. Her pulse quickened at the sound which was unnaturally grave for her former student.

"I cannot do that, Lord Gautier," insisted a stern voice. "We have announced your arrival, now you must wait until…"

"There is not time to wait!" Sylvain's voice echoed off the walls of the hall, cutting the speaker off in mid-sentence. Anger had broken through his polish. Dimitri and Byleth exchanged glances and sped up, almost running down the corridor.

As the scene below came into view, it became evident that Sylvain was not himself. Two castle guards stood below the stairs, barring his way up with crossed spears while another had positioned herself on the tiled floor in front of them. The fiery-haired young lord was pacing before her as though he was a trapped animal as they argued, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Two men stood behind Sylvian, clothed in the colors of House Gautier, they were soldiers of some sort, though no decoration indicated their ranks. While Sylvain actively engaged the soldiers at the staircase, the two hung back as though exhausted or fearful. None of them had removed their riding cloaks and their boots were coated in mud from the road; they must have dismounted and come directly inside. Dimitri and Byleth exchanged worried glances.

Sylvain remained focused on the guards and did not notice their arrival at the top of the stairs. "If you do not let me through then I will force my way through!" With a single defined motion, he drew his sword from the scabbard at his hip and the guards before him shifted fluidly into defensive stances. The guard woman shouted and drew her own sword and moved to engage him.

Dimitri's voice boomed out, filling the grand hall. "What is the meaning of this?"

Everyone stopped in their tracks, eyes and heads darting up to the top of the stairs where they stood. The guards and Sylvain's companions swiftly bent at the waist and sunk to their knees at the sight of the king who had begun a swift descent on the staircase. Byleth was fast behind him.

"Dimitri!" shouted Sylvain, who had not stopped to bow or even duck his head. "Will you tell them to get out of my way?"

"You all should all be ashamed of yourselves," continued Dimitri. "Drawing arms against one another in this manner." The ice in his eyes spared no one present save her. "What has transpired here should never happen in my home and I will ask one more time, what is the meaning of this?"

"Your Majesty," began the head guard woman who had been addressing Sylvain directly. "Lord Gautier entered the palace in such a fury that the servants fled and he would tell no one why he was here. He then began demanding to see you and _the Professor_. We were fearful for your safety, your Majesty."

At this, he leveled his disapproving gaze at his old schoolmate and friend who shook his head innocently. "I wouldn't have had to raise such a scene if they'd just cooperated," he retorted as he sheathed his sword with a click.

"Please, Sylvain," the warning in Dimitri's voice was as clear as though he'd stated it outright. "Thank you for your concern but I assure you it is unfounded. Please return to your posts."

"Yes, your Majesty."

The guards returned to their posts at the grand entrance at the far end of the hall and Sylvain swiftly closed the distance between him and the king. Dimitri took his arm in greeting. "I have to speak with you," he said in tones so low that Byleth almost missed it. "And you," he continued, addressing her directly.

She was not the only one disarmed by his demeanor and tone. "Of course," Dimitri said slowly as he evaluated his friend. "This had better not be about a woman."

Sylvain tightened his grip on Dimitri's forearm and drew him closer. His knuckles were white and he spoke through his teeth. "Not here. In private." Only when Dimitri nodded his agreement did Sylvain release him.

The walk to Dimitri's private study was tense one. Sylvian kept pace silently beside Dimitri and Byleth followed behind. The two men who had accompanied Sylvain followed behind her. Much like Dimitri, Sylvian had barely changed from the young man she remembered. Save for longer hair, an inch or two in height and an uncharacteristic grimness about his eyes, he looked unchanged from his time at the academy. There was also a sense of focus about him, a maturity that she remembered seeing in rare instances and she wondered if this man was a truer representation of Sylvain and the play-boy she'd instructed all those years ago was something he put on for show.

The King's study was a small room, intimate by royal standards and not meant for large audiences. Like all rooms in the palace there was a large marble fireplace which remained unlit due to the sudden nature of the room's use. The prominent feature of the room was the antique, oaken desk which occupied much of the floor space; a heavy piece of furniture that has belonged to the past kings of Faerghus dating back to the King of Lions.

Once they were behind the closed door of the study they fanned out across the room, no one opting to sit in the chairs before the desk. Byleth positioned herself near the fireplace which provided her an easy view of the room's occupants. The men who had accompanied Sylvain remained as near the door as they could and, now that she could see them clearly, Byleth recognized a haunted gauntness about them. This was as concerning to her as Sylvain's demeanor and silence.

Before, it had seemed that he was bursting to say whatever had warranted such a tumultuous entrance but now he silently paced the length of the room before the desk. The carpeted floor damped the sounds of his footfalls. Dimitri watched in stubborn silence until he could stand it no longer.

"Well?" he blurted out. "What was so important that you couldn't wait for us to come down?"

Sylvain stopped his pacing but did not turn to face his friend. His jaw clenched so hard that Byleth could see the muscles flex beneath his ears. "It's gone." One of the men gave the slightest wince at the utterance.

"What?" asked Dimitri, leaning forward to hear him clearly.

Amber eyes flashed with impatience as they raised to settle on Dimitri. "It's gone," he repeated with biting clarity. "It's completely gone."

Confusion did not prevent Dimitri's continued scrutiny and his eyes remained fixed on those of his friend. "What are you talking about?"

"It's gone! Swallowed up! Vanished! There's no trace of it. It's like it sank and disappeared or was never there to begin with!" He had resumed his pacing again and raked his fingers through his short wavy hair at the same feverish pace of his clipped words.

"I heard you the first time," Dimitri replied sharply. " _What_ is gone?"

"Sreng." As if uttering the name had broken the tension in him, Sylvain stopped his pacing and his hands hung at his sides. "Sreng is gone."

Dimitri studied him for a moment before laughing and shaking his head. "What do you mean Sreng is gone?"

"Just what I said," replied Sylvain flatly. "It's gone and the mountains that stood between us have vanished into… nothingness."

Still confused and growing impatient, Dimitri persisted. "You mean that the nation of Sreng? The tribes and settlements and so forth?"

"No. The literal landmass has vanished. We can only assume that the people and settlements went with it."

Dimitri blinked, confused. "And beyond Sreng?"

"There is nothing beyond."

"Sylvain," Dimitri began, a warning clear in his voice as he leaned forward to press his hands against the surface of his desk. "Stop speaking in riddles. If this is some sort of joke…"

"This is no joke, Dimitri!" insisted Sylvain as the agitation from before began to creep back into his voice. He turned to face Dimitri fully, not intimidated by the broad-shouldered man leaning over the desk toward him. "Why would I joke about this?!"

All the while, Byleth had continued to observe the ashen faces of the men who still lingered near the door. As the conversation heated between the two nobles, the distress on their faces became more evident as though Sylvain's mention of what had happened brought them back to it.

"Who are these men you've brought with you?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the redundant argument flying between the king and lord.

Her former students looked at her, blinking as though they'd forgotten her presence. Sylvian straightened from leaning toward Dimitri and raked his hand through his hair. "This is Anton and Jenson." Each bowed at their introduction. "Jenson serves on the border watch and was on guard duty when it happened." He waved a hand, as though conceding the floor then moved aside to lean against the window frame beside the desk. Leaning there, he was the very picture of casual ease save the thumbnail he began to chew on as he watched.

Jenson, a red-haired man in his middle years, raised his grey eyes to meet hers for a moment before darting away uneasily toward Dimitri. He stepped forward stiffly and offered an anxious bow. "Thank you for making the journey, Jenson. Will you please tell us what you saw?"

"I wish that I could, your Majesty, but truth-be-told, I saw nothing." He spoke in the harsh tongue of someone who rarely left the northern border. Their cadence was naturally fast but this man, driven by his nerves, spoke so quickly that Byleth had to concentrate to follow along.

"The night was clear, as one would expect for the season, and it was my first overnight with the Guard since returning from leave. I spent the great majority o' my years a-top those walls, watching the stars wink above the desert beyond our borders and that night there was nothin' amiss. Nothing."

His voice trailed off at the word and he wetted his lips with his tongue before continuing. "One moment, it was there and the next it weren't. It was like I was starin' inta a dark room with no windows or candles or the like. Like I'd blinked and somthin' that shoulda been there wasn't no more." He rubbed his fingers and thumbs together at his sides as he spoke. It seemed that just the recollection was strong enough to displace him.

"I looked down, fearful that I'd died or been separated from my body but myself and the fort were still there. Lookin' over the parapet, I seen the land below and the other soldiers like me who couldn't believe what they were seein' neither. They were shoutin' _"Where did it go?"_ and _"Goddess save us!"_ and I looked north and the water remained until a certain point." He splayed his palm flat in front of him and swiped his other hand down to chop on his open palm. "And then it fell, like the biggest waterfall you ever seen. And beyond that, more nothin'."

Jenson looked down as beads of sweat began to form visibly on his brow, and his eyes fixed on the floor seemed to shake with the intensity of what he saw beyond it. "We was all afraid, your Majesties. Afraid to look deep inta it. The longer you look inta it, a body feels like it'll soon be nothin' and, if you don't look away you'll become nothin' or you'll be unmade or… somethin'..." His voice trailed off until it became inaudible. Whatever he beheld in his mind's eye was real enough to freeze him where he stood.

The air grew heavy as she watched and Byleth became aware of the distinct chill of fear beginning to spread from her spine. She barely suppressed a shiver and no one spoke for what felt like several minutes. Finally, Anton placed a hand firmly on Jenson's shoulder and, giving him a squeeze, brought him back with a jump.

"Forgive me, your Majesties," he apologized, ducking his head fervently. "I must have left me-self just then."

"There is nothing to forgive." Dimitri made a good show of remaining unaffected by what the soldier had shared but Byleth observed a distinct strain at the corners of his mouth.

The two men looked to Sylvain as though unsure of how to proceed. He remained still at the window, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him but removed his thumbnail from between his teeth long enough to say, "Go on. Tell him the rest."

Anton, the officer among the two, kept a hand protectively on Jenson's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly before he stepped forward to bow first to Dimitri and then to her. "Your Majesties," he began, "The defense of the northern border has been under my charge since graduating from the Officers Academy many years ago. My lord, Margrave Gautier, observed my potential and sent me in my youth." He touched his forehead respectfully. Unlike Jenson, his dialect reflected that of the capital and clipped along with the pace of someone who had been in command of others for many years.

"My men woke me right away and I sent a scout to investigate it further. I thought it was some sort of trick of the light or natural occurrence but my scout didn't return so I sent a small party to look for him."

"Did they find him?" asked Dimitri, urging him to continue.

Anton raised his eyes, looking to Sylvain who also nodded his encouragement.

"Yes, your Majesty. He hadn't come to any physical harm but his mind was … he was raving as though he'd seen something too terrible to see. He had torn his hair away in fistfuls and had taken all of his clothing off… We took him back to the fort and waited until sunrise to venture forth again." As though recalling this were taxing, he dragged a large hand through his thick dark mustache then rubbed at his hairless chin before continuing.

"We approached the border where the roots of the mountains began and found that the earth abruptly stopped as though it'd been cleanly sliced away. No blade of grass or clod of dirt looked out of place to indicate a landslide or something natural. Even with the sun's beams shining down upon us, no light could penetrate the complete darkness beyond. Many a battle-hardened soldier fell to the ground and wept for staring into it. I ventured to the edge to look down to see if the peaks of the mountains could be seen below…" he trailed off and once again dragged his fingers heavily across his face before collecting himself to continue.

"There was nothing, your Majesties. Beyond only a hand or two's width the darkness was so complete that my sense of balance flew askew and I nearly toppled into the abyss. Thank the goddess it was not so…" Outwardly, Anton remained composed save for his hand at his face and the occasional twitch of his mustache. Between the two of them and their sweating and anxious compulsory movements, it was evident that the telling of this was difficult and taxing.

At last, Sylvain spoke, breaking the silence and deep thought that had settled in yet again. "They called for my father and my father sent me to investigate." His voice was soft and he remained deathly still near the window as he raised his eyes to meet Dimitri's. "It is exactly as they say. Arrows vanish without evidence of striking something solid. Spells cannot illuminate it, we sent fireballs in all directions."

"And what of Fraldarius? Have you seen Rodrigue?" asked Dimitri, fear raising subtly in his voice.

"When I got back to the castle to deliver the report to my father, Felix was there. Rodrigue sent him to tell us what they were seeing. It's the same."

Dimitri looked between Sylvain and the two soldiers whose eyes were once again focused on the floor for a moment, considering, before turning his gaze to her. She could not fault him the disbelief in his eyes. The story was incredible, implausible and yet here were three witnesses who were disturbed by what they had seen. She shook her head as though to say that she too did not know what to make of it. He looked to the desk between his hands searching for the answer as if it were etched into the wood.

"If this is true," he began softly. "What do you expect me to do?"

Sylvain scoffed in response to the question and Dimitri's head snapped toward him.

"You are telling me that a continent has vanished into an impenetrable abyss that drives people to insanity. What in the name of Seiros can I do?"

"You are the _King_ ," interjected Sylvain, stepping forcefully toward the desk.

"I am still just a man!"

"The King gives people hope!" Sylvain topped his exclamation, passionately. Dimitri shut his mouth with a snap, unable to find a rebuttal. "Come back with us and see for yourself."

"The soldiers are frightened, your Majesty," interjected Jenson timidly. "Seein' you there would be encouraging to 'em, your Majesty."

"It isn't like you to throw in the towel so quickly, your Majesty," Sylvain added under his breath, prompting Dimitri to look at Byleth once again. She quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked her silent agreement with Sylvain. "Besides, we didn't come here just for you. We came here for the professor as well."

Byleth considered him, tilting her head to the side and wondering if one of his signature pick-up lines would soon follow. He smiled fondly at her, hope rising in his eyes. "I haven't forgotten how you tore a hole in the sky, Professor. If anyone can figure out what is going on, you can."

She studied him a moment longer before returning his smile and giving a definitive nod of her head. "Let's do it."

"Very well." Dimitri straightened sounding more like himself. "We'll gather a small party and summon some additional mages from the school to assist with the warp."

"Thank you, Dimitri." The relief that Sylvain surely felt was beginning to manifest on his face and Byleth noticed how tired he looked.

"You're welcome, my friend." Dimitri clapped him reassuringly on the back. "I only pray that you and your men are mistaken in your accounts. I have not witnessed it and yet, I am afraid."

"Let's get you all some food and water," Byleth interjected, hoping to head off any new discussion before they could prepare. Belaboring the point would do nothing but rile up their fear and apprehension. "You should rest before we depart."

As she shepherded them out of the study, she glanced over her shoulder to find Dimitri still behind his desk. She lingered in the door frame, watching until he raised his face. When he did, his gaze was distant, focused on something unseen and far away.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He smiled softly at the sound of her voice and she watched him return to the room. "Yes," he assured her as he straightened and strode toward the door to join her. He stopped beside her and placed a hand on the curve of her waist. His hand felt heavy on her.

"Looks like we'll have to delay our walk down memory lane." He took her chin in his hand and studied her face tenderly. She nearly raised on the balls of her feet to kiss him when he reluctantly released her. "Come on. We have a lot of work to do."

As he turned to go down the hallway, his mind already miles away from her, an acute sadness began to harden in the pit of her stomach. She was suddenly possessed by a sharp urge to chase after him and throw her arms tightly around him. The news from the border must have shaken her if such a strong separation anxiety could take hold of her.

Shaking her head, Byleth followed at a normal pace behind him to assist with the preparations.


	4. Into the Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply  
> No tag warnings apply 
> 
> Edit: Cleaning up typos

Preparations were complete within the afternoon. Before the sun had fully reached its zenith, horses and saddle bags were prepared for the party which would consist of the king, queen consort, the party from the border, Gilbert, who had returned to Fhirdiad as the captain of the royal guard and four members of the Blue Lion Knights. They might have been ready to depart much sooner if it had been easier to convince Gilbert that a full military escort was not necessary.

While Gilbert oversaw preparations in the courtyard and stables, Dimitri took leave of her to consult the court mage, Cornelia, on what had transpired and their best course of action. Once Byleth was certain that Sylvian and his companions were settled with food and drink, she too took her leave to prepare.

Armed with new knowledge of her previous encounters with Margaret, Byleth gave explicit direction on what should and should not be laid out for her to wear. After a weak attempt to pack several bags and chests containing any number of dresses, the matronly woman conceded though she did insist on dressing Byleth and braiding her hair tightly for travel.

She was relieved to don thickly woven tights, shorts, a long-sleeved tunic and a padded doublet. All were dyed black and blue. The doublet had delicate looking silver thread about the padding and her riding cloak was hemmed in silver as well. Feeling more like herself than ever, Byleth found her way to the armory. Much to her surprise, she realized she was excited to depart on a mission and would soon have a sword on her hip.

The armory was situated alongside a long, thin courtyard paved with polished grey stone. Opposite this courtyard were the stables and the smell of the outdoors and horses greeted her as she alighted the stairs. Breathing deeply, she felt suddenly at home even though the setting was still starkly unfamiliar. Through a tall archway at the far end of the courtyard, she could see the horses being gathered and saddled. The warp spell, regardless of the strength of the caster, would only carry them so far. They would ride the rest of the way to the border.

Gilbert, his red hair streaked with more gray that she remembered, was overseeing the outfit of soldiers that would be joining them. The breastplate adorning his barrel-like chest gleamed even in the light of an overcast day and displayed the image of a knight atop a griffin etched into the metal. The four soldiers standing before him gave the impression of experience and skill regardless of their age or fairness and the silver band of fabric at their biceps identifying them as hand-picked by the King for his Blue Lion Knights.

As she strode nearer to them, Gilbert caught her eye and his right hand shot to his chest with a clang. "The Queen Consort approaches," he announced and the soldiers shifted into rigid attention, bringing the butts of their lances down against the ground with a precise click on the stones. Byleth smiled at the sound.

She stopped beside Gilbert, evaluating the soldiers silently as though she were inspecting her students. "They look well and fully prepared, Gilbert," she said, turning to address him.

"You are too kind, your Majesty," he replied. If he were pleased by the compliment, he made no outward show. His face remained stony as ever as he gave a small, respectful bow to her. "You are all dismissed. See to your horses, the mages from the School of Sorcery will arrive soon and we must be ready to depart."

Warmth spread through her chest as she watched him fondly. Even though the two of them remained formal in their dealings, she enjoyed his company.

With his soldiers dismissed, Gilbert turned to address her again. "May I fetch your sword from the armory, your Majesty?" She nodded and he was gone for only a moment before returning with a sword and a sword belt.

She wondered if this sword would feel strange in her hands or if her body would remember it for her. Goodness knew how long it had been since she'd held a sword. Taking the sheathed weapon from him, she gripped the two-handed hilt to pull the blade from the scabbard. It rang softly as she did so to her great satisfaction.

She stepped back, giving herself plenty of room to flourish the blade up, tip to the sky, then wind-milling to sweep across the plains of her body. The balance of the weapon felt perfect in her grip and the silver whispered as it cut through the air. With hardly a thought to her movement beyond evaluating the sword itself, she swiftly cut left to right and when her arm fully extended, she shifted the grip in her hand, allowing the tip of the sword to fall groundward before a flick of her wrist brought it back up, reversing her hold. She could not tell if simply the feel of a sword in hand was familiar or if it was this specific sword but it felt comfortable as she straightened and settled the length of the blade behind her back with her defensive hand over her heart. Satisfied, she returned the blade to it's scabbard.

"I trust that it is satisfactory?" asked Gilbert. When she smiled and nodded, his face lightened briefly with the faintest of smiles. "Excellent. His Majesty should be joining us soon and I expect that the mages will be here…"

"Father!" erupted an excited shout from behind them.

"... any moment now." He finished turning toward the sound in just enough time to catch a small figure barrelling toward him in his arms. "Annette," he stammered, looking embarrassed. "What are you doing here? I wasn't aware that they would send you as well."

"Of course they did!" chirped the short ginger-haired girl. "Well, they weren't at first but when I heard that Warpers were being called to the palace I marched right in on the head master and demanded that I come. One afternoon of classes cancelled isn't the worst thing. Hi professor!" Had she taken a breath during that explanation? Byleth smirked and gave a small shake of her head examining how Annette had grown.

Clothed in the long, elegant gown of a fully raised Gremory, Annette hardly looked like the girl she remembered. Her hair was gathered into a single bun at the nape of her neck, just visible above the cream-colored fur running along the high, exaggerated collar of her dress. The freckles that were once prominently speckled across her nose seemed to have faded but the vibrant green-blue of her eyes was just as Byleth remembered; they still sparkled with enthusiasm and unabashed joy as they settled on her former teacher.

"Annette!" scolded Gilbert. "You must address her Majesty with the proper respect and title. How many times must I remind you?"

Annette grimaced and raised a hand to cover her mouth as if to hold back her mistake. "I am so sorry, your Majesty! I really have the most terrible memory." She bowed quickly at the waist. "I beg your pardon!"

"I don't mind," Byleth reassured her. "I like being called that."

"Well…" Annette said, glancing with blazing cheeks between Byleth and her father. "Even so, I'll try my best not to forget again!"

"What classes will be cancelled?" Byleth asked, anxious to change the subject and curious as to why a single missing student should prevent an entire class from meeting.

"Just my afternoon theory class. But don't worry! I gave my students plenty of homework to keep them occupied just like you did profess … your Majesty!"

Byleth blinked. Annette was teaching at the Royal School of Sorcery?

"I meant that with all due respect, your Majesty. So… what is prompting the warp? Headed up to inspect the border?" she asked, rocking on her heels girlishly in precisely the same manner she'd done as a student.

Gilbert cleared his throat, drawing his daughter's attention back. His eyebrows furrowed deeper with his disapproval. "We cannot share the details at this time and you should remember that it is inappropriate to pry where royal matters are concerned."

Annette frowned, but did not allow his chiding to deter her. Clapping her hands together at her chin, she continued, "I saw Sylvain on the way over here but he didn't even look up when I called to him. He looked … not like himself. Is there something terrible happening?"

Byleth smiled, attempting to soften the harshness of Gilbert's scolding. "Trust us for now, Annette. I hope that that's all we are going to do."

The young mage did not look convinced but she offered a small smile of acceptance. "Okay, your Majesty. I will."

"Oh! Hello Annette. I didn't expect to see you here today," said Dimitri as he joined them. Byleth hadn't heard him approach and gave a small jump as he appeared beside her. His tone was pleasant enough but he wasted no time in waiting for a response before shifting back to the matter at hand. "Are the preparations complete, Gilbert? Our goal is to reach the border before sunset. We should not delay in departing."

"Yes, your Majesty. I shall assemble the soldiers," replied Gilbert. He bowed stiffly before taking his leave.

"I'll notify the mages," added Annette, clearly eager to help. She bowed, or rather bobbed, and was gone running after her father.

Dimitri watched them go thoughtfully which gave her the perfect opportunity to take him in. In all her recollection, she'd never witnessed him dressed for battle like this. She had noticed similar pieces of armor in the paintings and portraits about the palace but to see it adorning Dimitri's statuesque frame was enough to interrupt her train of thought entirely. Blue and silver plates that matched the coloring of her own attire covered him from the waist up and encased his arms and the most striking feature were the pauldrons joined together at his breastbone by a plate etched with the Blayddid crest. The grand pauldrons exaggerated the broadness of his shoulders alone but the ground-length cloak wrapped around them and topped with white animal fur added to the ferocity of his appearance. This was the King's armor, crafted to illustrate fearsome strength of the Blayddid crest-bearer.

He wore it as though it weighed nothing though the cloak alone must weigh 30 pounds and seemed oblivious to its effect on her. Her chest tightened and she realized that she'd been holding her breath which she released slowly and, hopefully, without notice.

"Cornelia has never heard of such an occurrence. She is going to consult her books while we are away but she doubted that the accounts were accurate." He paused and took his chin in his hand. "This all sits ill with me. It sounds too fantastic to be real and yet…" He made an exasperated sound and shook his head. "What do you make of all of this?"

Byleth fretted on her lower lip as she thought. Clearly, the trio from the border had experienced something horrific and, for all accounts, they corroborated each other's stories. Even now she could observe them listlessly preparing their horses. But it all seemed too fantastic to believe.

Then there was Sylvain. In the time that she had known him, nothing aside from the discussion of crests and nobility could shatter his confident demeanor, and even then, his resilience would restore his good humor almost as quickly as it had cracked. The strain at the corners of his mouth reminded her of Felix more than the reluctant, womanizing noble. He stood beside his gelding, bridle in hand, absently stroking its dark mane. What could have been so severe that his very demeanor had altered?

"I don't know yet," she finally replied softly, tearing her eyes away from the border soldiers to look up at her husband. He too was watching Sylvain and his party with an unreadable expression. "Whatever has happened, they believe it to be exactly as they have described. Even if it is not as they say it is, it must be terrible."

She clutched at the hilt of her sword reflexively as fear trickled along her spine and the feel of worked leather where she had expected to feel the smooth texture of the Sword of the Creator was jarring. A soft sigh slipped from her as she remembered that she did not have the relic. Dimitri must have heard it because he leaned close to her, lowering his voice and looking directly into her eyes.

"Are you sure that you're up to this? Things have happened so fast and we haven't had a chance to talk further about last night."

Byleth knew full well that he was talking about the episode at the mirror but color sprang to her cheeks as she recalled the events from earlier that night. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes but not so quickly that she missed his own embarrassed grin and the beginnings of a blush. "Yes, I'm fine," she muttered and he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Just take it easy." He placed his chin on the top of her head, pulling her close enough that she could lean her cheek against his chest. Despite the chill from his armor, being closer to him was comforting. "Tell me if you feel faint again, okay?"

Slipping her arms beneath the fur of his cloak, she squeezed her arms around him tightly and muttered her agreement against his chest.

"And get your head out of the gutter, will you?" She could hear the grin on his face. "We have a royal appearance to maintain."

Byleth snorted in response and the two departed side by side to join the party at the warp site. So often, she had advanced or trailed behind him, playing a protective or supporting role to his strength and stamina. Strategically, it made sense that he charged the front line and she utilized that tactic often. Walking beside him like this brought on an unexpected exhilaration, a power that she could not recall feeling even with the Sword of the Creator blazing to life in her hands. As they passed beneath the arched, stone gateway, passing from shadow to light, everyone gathered there brought their hands to their chest and bent at the waist. In unison, they straightened with a clatter of armor and for the first time she could recall, standing squarely beside her lover with sword on her hip, Byleth felt like a Queen.

Soon everyone was in position atop their horses and situated in columns that alternated three abreast followed by three Gremory or Bishops from the School. Byleth adjusted herself atop her white mare then checked to make sure the blinders were positioned properly. Even the best trained warhorses could be skittish during a warp and, lined up as they were, precision and stillness were key.

Looking up, she saw Annette taking her position in front of her beside an older looking mage that must be the highest-ranking Bishop. Who else would be responsible for warping the king himself? Annette looked so grown up in her gown and, where she might have fidgeted under Byleth's scrutiny in the past, she was now self-assured and exhibiting confidence. Their eyes locked and Annette gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, your Majesty, I've been practicing!"

Byleth's stomach dropped and her face fell. What did Annette mean she'd been _practicing_? And why should she be worried? Just what happened when a warp spell failed? Before she could so much as look for support or voice her concern, the Bishop before Dimitri called for attention. The mages from the School all placed their hands together in front of their hearts as the Bishop chanted to set the rhythm and pace for the hand movements that would channel the spell.

A moment later, the magic users began a fluid circular motion with their hands, arching their arms in unison over their heads and then coming together before the chest again. No time for worry now. Byleth felt the air begin to tingle on her skin as the magic surrounded her. With a swift uprising of their hands, the mages completed the warp spell. The tingling around her intensified and then seemed to solidify in a tight seal that snapped around her as though it were a second skin.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, she was no longer facing the stables and armory within the castle but a well-worn, dirt road which wound ahead of them through a sweeping barren plain. Seems she Annette's practicing had paid off and she had arrived unscathed. Looking behind her, Byleth could see the high stone walls of Fhirdiad beyond the lancers and Sylvain's column in the distance. Low clouds obscured a clear viewing giving the city a fairy-tale feel. Viewing it this way felt like looking at a picture in a children's book.

The horses shifted nervously in their blinders. Muttered, comforting sounds rose throughout the party as they were removed from the animals' eyes. Byleth chose to dismount to remove them from her mare needing to feel the solid ground beneath her feet. Stroking her mare's nose reassuringly, she surveyed the plains before her. The grey sky above them allowed only small amounts of sunlight to filter through to the ground and the wind blew steadily along with no trees to slow it. Clumps of foliage grew sparsely and clustered as though banding together against the winter moons and wisps of tall thin grasses encroached on their gatherings.

A glance up to Dimitri and Gilbert, still mounted, found them talking softly together about how far they'd come and the ground left to cover. After a moment, Dimitri reigned his horse around to address the party. "Finish seeing to your horses and prepare to continue. We still have a ride of several hours before reaching the border and I mean to be there well before sunset."

When they departed, it was at a hard, fast pace. Dimitri's anxieties about what they would find manifested in the pace that he set, riding at the head of the column with Byleth and Gilbert behind. The road was well worn and easy for the horses to traverse and with no concerns about injury they could push even harder. The landscape that sped past them was much the same as everywhere else, barren and expansive. It told stories of the hard men and women who could tame and inhabit it. She alone seemed interested in the countryside and aside from the hard thud of hooves against the ground and the whooshing of the wind they rode in silence.

Tension among the riders made her suspect they had been briefed on what to expect, though stern faces among soldiers of Faerghus was not uncommon. Sylvain and his men rode just as grimly for the duration, barely looking up from the path before them. Gradually, the land began to change into small hills and soon, they neared the foot of the steepest hill that they had encountered. Sylvain spurred his gelding on to pass her and fell into step with Dimitri.

"We should stop here," he called, gesturing ahead.

Dimitri nodded. Gilbert reigned his horse to slow and signaled those behind him with a raised hand to slow their pace as well. The party stopped just as the road curved to circle about the hill, rather than cross over it. As though sensing something amiss, the horses all shifted nervously. Byleth stroked her mare's mane but could detect nothing strange or out of place. Whatever it was, the horses could sense it while humans could not.

"We should continue on foot from here. You'll be able to see it from the top of this foothill," said Sylvain passing the reigns of his gelding to Anton.

Frowning, Dimitri was the first to dismount followed by Gilbert and the Lancers. Taking Dimitri's gloved hand, Byleth swept her leg over the saddle to dismount. She held onto his hand for a moment more and he made no disagreement as they looked around. The pair exchanged concerned glances and hesitantly released the other's hand. 

Dimitri turned to take his lance from the saddle but stopped as Sylvain said, "You won't need that." Ominous as that sounded, Dimitri stepped back from his horse to join his friend at the base of the foothill.

Impatiently, Sylvain began the ascent. Dimitri and Byleth fell in behind, not waiting for Gilbert to complete his direction to the lancers that should remain behind with Jenson and Anton. Silence followed as well, making the sound of armored foot falls hurrying to catch up seem even louder.

"I don't know what I expected but I thought something would feel off when we got here," said Dimitri in hushed tones. The quiet tension surrounding them made speaking at full volume unthinkable.

"So did I," she replied puffing as the incline steepened. Even if they had felt like talking, the effort of mounting this hill in the face of the wind demanded what remained of her attention. It would certainly have been easier on horseback but eventually they neared the top.

Sylvain stopped just short of the crest and turned, looking back down the way they had come. "Go on," he said flatly and folded his arms protectively across his chest. "I've seen it enough."

"Are you ready?" Dimitri asked the older knight as he caught up to them. It felt as though they were preparing to spring a surprise attack not stand atop a hill in broad daylight.

Gilbert nodded and set his square jaw in a way that made his face appear to be etched in stone. Byleth caught Dimitri's eye as her pulse quickened in anticipation. They had no idea what to expect and she clutched habitually at the sword on her hip. She gave him the slightest nod and he returned it, confirming silently that they both were ready

Cautiously, the three approached the hilltop and crossed onto its crest.

Ice rippled across her flesh and through her veins as she gazed out into the remaining foothills that once fed into the mountain range separating Faerghus from the northern peninsula. She was vaguely aware of the armored figure of her husband dropping heavily to both knees beside her but she was frozen, unable to tear her gaze away from a darkness so complete that at once it looked endless and solid. As her body forced a breath into her lungs a single tear sprang from her eye to streak down the roundness of cheek and drip from her chin.

"By the Goddess…" rasped Gilbert, standing slack jawed beside Dimitri.

As deeply as she viewed, she could find no definitive shape in the blackness. It reminded her of being trapped in the dark dimension and the hopelessness that had pressed into her then sprang up within her anew. Her fingers twitched at the end of lifeless arms at her sides as she longed to hold herself, to guard against the deathly chill of nothingness. From far away, she heard Sylvain urging Dimitri to his feet and Gilbert's prayers on the wind. She could hear terror and hysteria in Dimitri's voice as he shouted, "It's like it was never there!"

Amidst the chaos happening beside her, she could suddenly hear something faint and familiar. It was a soft sound, indiscernible at first until she took a laborious step forward and then another. With each step, the racket from her companions faded and the sound before her clarified. Was it music? The next step she took began her descent down the other side of the hill.

Straining to hear, she quickened her pace and scanned the expanse before her as she went for the source of the sound. To the north, water from the sea rushed and roared over the edge of the world. To the south, the darkness continued along until she could see no further. Her speed increased, carried by the momentum of coming down the hill and driven on by a deep seeded need she could not understand. As she got closer, the sound should have gotten louder but the distance only served to diminish the voices behind her.

The hill, while steep, was hardly a mountain and the earth stopped several yards from the base of it. Byleth was closing the gap between herself and the edge swiftly, her gaze fixed inexplicably on a single spot within the inky void. She could not hear the sound over the rush in and out of her breath but she was certain it was enveloped in the void.

Voices called to her from the top of the foothill and annoyance flared within her at the disruption. She vaguely recognized her name, shouted several times in succession but the need to hear what the darkness had hidden, to learn the secret within it pushed her to run even faster, pumping her arms and legs furiously. She was so near to the edge that she could no longer see the pale winter grass in her lower periphery and the blackness seemed to open like the mouth of a cave before her.

Within that cave she knew the source of the music could be found and if she could just get inside of it. Someone's hands suddenly closed on her shoulders, gripping hard at her clothing and flesh causing her to stumble. A forceful twist and the weight of another body colliding against her threw her off balance completely and she tipped forward, her face hurtling toward the ground and her legs back to kick up behind her.

Her assailant hit the ground first, having nearly catapulted over her head as her feet left the ground but they held tightly to her and rolled beneath her as her face twisted skyward. Limbs arched awkwardly as the momentum she'd gained carried the two tangled bodies within inches of the edge. Byleth's shoulders were knocked free of her pursuer's grip as she skidded on her stomach up to and over the edge. The red earth beneath the grass running down into the abyss was sheer, smooth as though cauterized by rending. There was nowhere for her scrambling feet to catch hold and as self-preservation kicked in, she clawed at the weak grasses to save her from being enveloped by the void.

Her fingers tore the fragile blades from the dried winter earth as quickly as she grasped it. She cried out as her stomach dropped in anticipation of the plummet into darkness but her fall was stopped abruptly by a hand clamping down on her wrist painfully. Gravel and bits of dirt showered down around her as her savior skidded to a stop at the edge of the drop down.

The second hand clutched through the cloak at her shoulder but couldn't leverage enough to lift her. Swinging wildly, she twisted to look up and away from the impenetrable darkness to find the familiar face of the blue-haired young lord straining to keep a hold of her. Felix gritted his teeth and tightened his grip, focused on the task of steadying her.

"Stop moving, you idiot!" he growled through clenched teeth.

For what seemed like an eternity, she dangled there, supported by the young swordsman. The pitch pressed heavily in around her, stifling her breath and the bones in her wrist felt as though they would crack apart like kindling. Then a second blessed rain of dirt fell over the edge as someone one joined Felix.

"Don't just look at it. Help me!" he demanded and she saw his face twist with the effort of holding her.

Dimitri's golden head appeared over the edge and he extended his hand down to her, calling her name urgently. Seeing him was like a gasp of air after being underwater for too long and she forgot all about the song in the void. Fear and the madness of the emptiness pressing in screamed within her, she needed to put distance between herself and the darkness through any means. But the moment she moved to clasp at his arm Felix grunted. "Careful! Don't swing!"

Taking a breath to calm herself, she carefully raised her other arm toward Dimitri's outstretched hand. "That's it," he coaxed, keeping his gaze steadily on her face. He smiled reassuringly and she focused on him as she moved with painstaking slowness. "Keep going."

As she brushed against his fingertips a voice rang out from deep within the void. It was high, clear and melodic. Byleth gasped and turned her head to look over her shoulder, completely forgetting about the two men straining to reach her. She could hear the song. Three notes, falling down the scale and then stopping before beginning again. It was soothing, hypnotic and begging her to follow it.

The masculine shouting behind and above her sounded vulgar and harsh when compared to such a heavenly sound. She longed to draw nearer to that lovely song and tried to turn her body fully toward it but more hands closed on her arm and opposite shoulder. She was hauled roughly up into the thin midday sunlight.

Dimitri's arms closed around her as she emerged and pulled her against his chest tightly, carrying her with him as he fell back. The cold of his armor stung against her skin but she clung to him regardless as they landed in a heap. Dimitri kicked back, scooting as far as possible from the edge without loosening his arms around her. All strength seemed to have left her limbs and she allowed him to drag her along. The sound of his relieved breath drowned out what remained of the distant melody.

The sunlight stung her eyes and she blinked as they adjusted. Everyone was silent and the weight of what had happened pressed down on them. Beside and behind Dimitri, she saw Felix scowling and rubbing his shoulder with his back pointedly to the abyss. Sylvain lay on his back, arms and legs stretched out, his chest heaving. Gilbert, looking pale, kneeled beside Sylvain with his forearms folded and supported on his knee. He too was out of breath but contained his exhaustion and kept his gaze downward. Had it taken all of them to pull her up?

Finally, Gilbert spoke in a shaky voice, "Are you harmed, your Majesty?"

She shook her head until she could find her voice. "No."

"You idiot!" shouted Felix furiously aiming a kick at Sylvain's side. "You didn't tell them not to look into it did you?!"

Sylvain rolled to the side though the kick itself had not been intended to land. "They needed to see it, Felix. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know she'd take off running at it!"

"You should have warned them…"

"This has happened before?" interrupted Gilbert.

"Yes," answered Felix hotly.

"Not like this," insisted Sylvain just as shortly and beginning to climb to his feet.

"Where did you come from, Felix?" asked Dimitri, having recovered his voice. He still clung to her as though she'd be swept away by the wind.

Felix stared at him as though he'd grown two heads. "The guard tower, right there."

Just as he said, several feet away was a guard tower. Likely it was the same guard tower Jenson had been stationed at when it happened. Somehow, even standing atop the crest of the foothill, none of them had noticed the guard tower that stood tall and looming before the Edge of the World, as it would soon be called.

After a moment, Felix snorted disdainfully and shook his head again. "You have to be kidding me. None of you noticed it, did you?"

"Regardless," interrupted Dimitri. "We've seen it. Let's resume this discussion at a safe distance."

Byleth denied that her legs still trembled as she scaled the foothill alongside Dimitri with Gilbert trailing close behind them. No doubt he was positioned this way to intercept her should the urge to throw herself into the darkness take hold again. She could still hear the repetitive melody calling to her, begging her to return but Byleth gritted her teeth against the impulse and plodded onward.

Once they were safely over the crest, it took only a few questions to prompt her to share what had happened. It was evident on the faces of her companions that they had expected more than she could tell.

"Let me get this straight," said Felix, crossing his arms and settling skeptical golden eyes on her. "You heard something, you can't say what, and needed to find it so badly that you'd run head-long into an infernally dark abyss?"

Even as she'd tried to explain it to them, the story sounded ridiculous and now, hearing it repeated back she couldn't blame Felix for his tone. She nodded wordlessly. Felix and Sylvain exchanged glances but made no move to elaborate on their thoughts.

"You said this had happened before. Did the others behave in the same way?" inquired Gilbert when it was clear the border lords had no intention of being forthcoming.

Felix shook his head, throwing his arms down dismissively.

"Yes and no," ventured Sylvain. "Some soldiers, after looking into it, would walk over the edge like they'd been hypnotized or something. We lost three this way. That's when we moved everyone back."

"But no one running like a fool over the edge like this!"

"We get it, Felix," warned Dimitri, stepping protectively nearer to her.

Felix exhaled in frustration and turned to walk a few paces away from the group as Sylvain continued.

"After we'd pulled the others away from the edge, they would clear up but only enough to be shepherded further away. The Professor here is the only one I know of that fully regained her senses."

Gilbert cleared his throat and Sylvain raised his hands apologetically. "Sorry. Her Majesty, here."

Dimitri raised a hand to support his chin as he thought. "Curious. Did any of the others say anything about music?"

"No," came Felix's wry reply from the side. "Just gibberish. Incomprehensible."

"I need to see them." All eyes shifted to fix on her as though they'd forgotten she was there. "Where are they?"

"They're being treated in the barracks at Castle Gautier," said Sylvain slowly as though he were unsure whether he should be sharing this information or not.

"Take me to them."

Sylvain's eyebrows rose and he looked for a moment as though he were going to protest but thought better of it. "Whatever you say, your Majesty."

The sun would be fully set soon and the party from Fhirdiad did not need to be reminded that staying after sunset was inadvisable. They would ride to Castle Gautier where Dimitri would meet with the border lords and Byleth with those that could be recovered from the void. As they mounted and prepared to depart, Byleth guided her mare nearer to Felix who scrutinized her until she was close enough to speak.

"I want to thank you," she began but he stopped her before she could continue.

"Don't mention it." His tone was less than gracious and she was reminded how little stock he put in praise and thanks.

"Still," came Dimitri's voice from behind her. He must have followed her example now that their minds had cleared. "We owe you a great debt."

"You owe me nothing," he replied sourly, guiding his horse to the side with a sharp pull of the reign. "Just figure out what is going on and try to avoid falling into holes." He nudged his mount ahead and that was the end of the conversation.

When Byleth looked over to him, Dimitri was still watching his friend ride ahead. He let out a long-suffering sigh then noticed her watching. He smiled. "I don't suppose you remember anything about Margrave Gautier?"

As expected, she could recall nothing about Sylvain's father.

His chuckle was soft and mirthless. "Margrave Philipe Jose Gautier is exactly what you would expect of a man who would disinherit his first-born son over the lack of a crest but he and his family have protected our northern border since before my father's time. He believes in the old ways and puts great value in ceremony. There's a whole ritual to entering the gates of the castle."

She tilted her head to the side, imagining what such a ritual would look like. This expression seemed to warm him and this chuckle sounded more smitten than before.

"You'll just have to wait and see," he added as he reigned his horse about to join the others in formation.

They departed quickly, following the foothills to the north. Dimitri once again set a hard pace and they made good time. The party passed under the gates into Castle Gautier's main courtyard before the first stars began to show above. Much like all the castles in Faerghus, Castle Gautier was more like a fort than a castle as one might expect. There was little in the way of ornamentation and the outer walls appeared to be sheer. They were, no doubt, impossible to scale. Once inside the walls, simple architecture remained the predominant style.

The square courtyard was surrounded by more high, sheer walls and one could only advance by scaling a wide stone staircase opposite the gate. Their party, small as it was, had to position their horses so closely that dismounting became a challenge. Despite its simplicity, the courtyard was immaculate. The stone covering the ground was so well polished that it reflected the light of the torches as they were lit and mounted in the walls by soldiers, some hardly old enough to carry a sword.

Above them, at the top of the stairs stood two great-lords, their faces obscured by the failing light. One, she could place as Rodrigue, the shield of Faerghus and Felix's father by the dark facial hair on his fair skinned face. She'd met him before and was pleased to see that at least some things hadn't changed too drastically. The other was broad, shorter than Fraldarius, but his shape was obscured by a thick cloak lined in excessive fur. It was difficult to make out more about him without standing closer. Comparatively, where Fraldarius seemed flexible, Gautier appeared stout and immoveable.

Sylvian emerged from behind them, sliding between horses, and stepped in front of Dimitri. Byleth thought she saw a grimace on his lips as he raised his voice to address his father.

"My Lord, my father. Your son has returned and seeks to once again pass through your gates."

"My son and heir, bearer of the Crest of Gautier, name those that accompany you and do seek passage through the gate."

Sylvain's sigh was so brief that many might have missed it. She suddenly understood his intense dislike for formality and ritual. "The King, Dimitri Alexandre Blayddid, seeks passage. With him, the Queen Consort, Captain of the Guard and the Blue Lion Knights seek passage. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, son of Lord Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, seeks passage also. "

"Are there any among you who you have not named?"

"By my Crest and my King, none."

"I, Margrave Phillipe Jose Gautier, defender of the northern border, grant you and all that you have named passage through this gate."

Sylvain made no attempt to mask the next, long suffering sigh that passed his lips once the ceremony was complete. Giving a shake of his shaggy head and a wry smile he looked to Byleth. "Looks like we can come in now." The dry sarcasm in his tone was not lost on her.

"Stop sulking," said Felix, appearing beside Dimitri. "Let's go."

Offering her his arm, Dimitri chuckled, "Do you see what I mean? The Margrave is enamored with tradition and ceremony."

She took his arm and the pair proceeded up the stairs with Gilbert behind then Sylvain and Felix. "Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Don't let his standoffishness throw you off balance. I am the King and you are the Queen Consort and the bearer of the Crest of Flames. The only thing the Margrave values more than tradition is power. Very few crests are more revered than ours."

They alighted the stairs and atop the landing, Byleth got her first good look at the Margrave. He was surprisingly short, almost head and shoulders shorter than Dimitri and his son. She could look him directly in the eye without raising her chin but he was stout, nearly twice her own width. He stood before them, proud and immovable, scrutinizing them each in turn as though deciding whether to allow them through the door or not. It was unnerving to be evaluated in such a way but she dared not shift her weight or look around lest it be perceived as weakness.

After what felt like an eternity of silent evaluation and stillness he spoke again in a voice that rumbled in his barrel-like chest. "By my leave, pass through the gates and enter my protection." With this announcement, he stepped aside and, following Dimitri's lead, they stepped over the threshold into Castle Gautier.


	5. An Abundance of Caution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply to this chapter  
> No tag warnings apply to this chapter
> 
> Edit: Cleaning up typos

Byleth had always imagined that the inside of castles and manor estates would be disproportionately decadent and comfortable when compared to the furnishings of her upbringing. The castle at Fhirdiad had reinforced this childhood fantasy with its carpeted floors, brightly lit rooms and the stone of the walls softened by dressings and art work. Upon entering the palace in the capital, one could forget the harsh, unforgiving lands surrounding it and rest in what luxury Faerghus could afford. 

Castle Gautier, in stark contrast, was fort-like inside and outside. Standing like a monolith, audacious and imposing against the horizon atop the hill surrounded by a village, it mocked any who would seek to conquer it. This was to be expected of a structure intended to protect an open border and the tight confines of the courtyard must have been intended to limit the number of soldiers and horses that could enter at once. Byleth had noted this, appreciating the clever use of architecture for a strategic advantage. 

Passing through towering reinforced doors, the party from Fhirdiad found themselves in a barren receiving room. The sound of their clicking bootheels on the stone floor echoed distinctly against the bare walls of the chamber and bounced hollowly up the walls of the tower like room to disappear into the shadows above that hid the ceiling. Meager light shone from the torches mounted in sconces here and there and even the additional light provided by servants holding lanterns provided limited illumination. The dismal room was scarcely welcoming and, had there been anything worth viewing adorning the walls, she would have had to squint to see them clearly.

From the entrance chamber, corridors branched off in cardinal directions, bleak and dimly lit within. Each corridor was narrow allowing for only two men abreast to pass through at a time. Had the castle been designed this way after an invasion or in preparation for it? An enemy would easily become disoriented in a place like this. Despite the chill in her bones and a pervading sense of disease, she found herself nodding in admiration of the castle’s design. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Dimitri was saying as those in the room straightened from their bows. 

“It is my honor,” replied Gautier through a thick beard and mustache. She did not think he sounded honored but, perhaps she offered him a small smile in response. 

A swift flicker of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned just in time to see Felix stop at his father’s shoulder. He leaned forward to speak briskly but too softly to overhear and was stalking away from his father to join Sylvain down the corridor before anyone else could notice. 

There was no time for her gaze to trail after the pair. Rodrigue swept toward them with a smile that seemed to lessen the severity of the room around them. Despite the closeness of their bond, Rodrigue was the personification of chivalry as he bowed to them both before taking Dimitri’s forearm to embrace him. 

“Your Majesty, I am happy to see you.” His greeting was followed by the hearty clap of hands against backs. 

Byleth couldn’t help smiling as she observed the two of them together. Even under these circumstances, the genuine affection between the two of them warmed her but, as she watched, she noted Rodrigue who normally spoke so clearly, leaned close to Dimitri’s ear. His mouth was obscured by his flowing dark hair and she could not discern what was said. 

Margrave Gautier remained near, watching the two men with disinterest. Upon making unexpected eye contact with her, Byleth struggled to find something to say to this hedgehog of a man. “Such an interesting ritual to enter the castle,” she said, assuming that a man who clung to custom and ritual would brighten at a chance to discuss it.

Bushy eyebrows rose as though she had insulted him and his response was far cry from bright. “It was a necessity long ago when traitors and spies would attempt to infiltrate the castle. One must be named and their identity vouched for.” Shrewd dark eyes studied her face with startling intensity. “One is less likely to be a conspirator with invaders if one must swear to your guests’ identity. Wouldn’t you agree, your majesty?” 

She nodded. 

“All noble children in Faerghus are taught this history,” he added pointedly. 

Her blood had begun to simmer at his emphasis on the words noble and Faerghus. The margrave no doubt interpreted the flush of her cheeks as embarrassment and she was near correcting him when Rodrigue released Dimitri and turned the warmth of his attention to her. He embraced her tightly as though she were his kin. “My queen, you look well. I am happy to see you, although I wish the circumstances were different.” He released her and she returned his smile. In truth, she was happy to see him. 

“Rodrigue, you old sentimental. We have serious matters to discuss with his majesty.” 

Looking around, Byleth was surprised to see that Gautier, his son and Felix were looking back at them from further down the corridor. Unperturbed, Rodrigue chuckled and nodded. “You’re right, Philipe.” With a sweeping gesture he stepped aside so that she and Dimitri could follow.

The tunnel was tight though no one around her seemed to feel as claustrophobic as she. Despite the lack of decor, the castle was pristine. Much like the stones in the courtyard, the floor, walls and ceiling shone in the scant firelight. She imagined the discipline the servants must exhibit to keep unadorned stone looking like this. 

Soon enough, they emerged from the passage into the dining room where dual fireplaces crackled away, providing light and warmth to the cavernous room. Arranged to accommodate a battalion with long tables spanning its length, she was reminded of a mess hall rather than a formal dining hall. 

The very first hint of dressing provided ample insight into what was valued here on the borderland. This space seemed to be a shrine to battle and manhood with mounted weapons and trophies from hunts displayed prominently on the walls.

At the far end of the room, raised on a platform, was another shorter table dressed simply, favoring function over decorative frivolities. Servants in livery of understated grey and dark red lined the back wall like soldiers at attention and she realized as they neared the dias that they were to wait on them. Everything about this place smacked of rigidity and, while she was not unaccustomed to strict living, it was unexpected. It was difficult to fathom how someone like Sylvain had grown up here.

Dimitri escorted Byleth to the far side of the table and took her hand to help her into her seat. As he pushed her chair in for her, he leaned forward as though he intended to kiss her cheek. Instead, she felt the rough hair on his chin and the rush of his breath as he said quickly and quietly, “Do not speak of falling in.” 

Straightening with no further word or glance, Dimitri took his seat at the center of the table. Rodrigue and Gautier took their seats of honor to his left and right with their sons beside them. Byleth did not typically feel out of place among men but sitting at the end of the table, apart from Dimitri, she felt obtrusive. 

Perhaps he was sensing how she must feel, Sylvain leaned forward to make eye contact with her and offer an encouraging smile. Felix looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but at this table. The two of them remained much like the images in her memory and she felt a knot of anxiety loosen in her stomach at the thought. 

Food and drink were brought to the table but no one ate much. A few attempts at casual conversation refused to take flight leaving the table shrouded in silence. The sound of idle scraping of utensils on plates dominated the space in the absence of any other sound. Finally, when it could be delayed no longer, Rodrigue broached the topic on everyone’s mind. 

“What did your majesties find when you surveyed the scene?” 

“My son took you to the site. He was instructed to bring you here,” interjected Gautier, his mood remaining curdled. Sylvain ignored him pointedly and drank deeply from his cup. “I trust that he put the safety of your majesties first and did not lead you too close?”

“Of course,” Dimitri reassured him graciously. “I am glad that he took us to see it. I might not have believed it, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Even from a distance it is,” he paused to find the word and ultimately could not. “Indescribable.”

“Yes,” agreed Rodrigue. “We came here after our watch notified us. It doesn’t seem to be spreading, thank the goddess.” 

“But it might,” Gautier said pointedly, gesturing with a thick finger. “Seems to be nothing within our power that could stop it if it did.”

“We have to remain calm,” soothed Dimitri. “Our uncertainty should not fuel fear or lead us to rash decisions. For now, have you both removed your people from the area?” 

Gautier snorted loudly and turned his attention to his plate. Sylvain could hardly disguise the roll of his eyes. 

“That was to be part of our discussion with you.” Rodrigue was the picture of composure as he continued. “You, yourself, called it indescribable. How are we to explain the reason for a sudden evacuation without causing panic?”

“Couldn’t we just say that the Srengans are mounting an invasion? That’s not outside the realm of possibility,” Sylvain suggested. 

“But why would our soldiers evacuate as well? That makes no sense,” retorted Felix. 

“Even so, I cannot condone whipping the townsfolk up into a panicked frenzy even if it would yield the desired results,” mused Dimitri, his chin in his hand. “People in the throes of fear are only thinking of survival. Their behavior can be unpredictable. There has to be another way.”

Gautier’s short, wry laugh drew every eye at the table. It seemed he had nothing more to say as he remained fixed on the food on his plate, sawing away at a piece of meat with his knife. 

“So, what do you suggest, your majesty? That we stroll into each town and village, tell them that something has happened but we don’t know what and it might or might not spread to devour their land and homes. We don’t know how to stop it but for safety’s sake we should all evacuate but don’t panic.” Felix looked around the table incredulously. “I cannot be the only one who thinks that sounds insane.” 

“It is obvious that we need a unified plan.” conceded Dimitri. “If we are confident in our message we may be able to avoid undo panic until we know more about the effects of this thing.” 

Dimitri gave a start as though he had just remembered something. “What of the soldiers who were recovered from the abyss?” he asked, looking between the two older lords. “ We were told that they are being treated here. Has there been any improvement in their condition?”

Again, Gautier gave a dry, sardonic laugh in response. Dimitri paused, examining him before glancing about the table. Everyone, save Byleth, was suddenly intensely interested in their plates of food. She watched as he subtly set his face and then turned in his chair to face Gautier more fully.

“If you have something you wish to say, Margrave, please speak freely.” She could hear his carefully placed smile in his voice. 

Gautier gruffly cleared his throat, his deep set eyes darting up to the king’s face to glare openly from beneath bushy red eyebrows. “I do, in fact, have something I want to say.”

Rodrigue pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes muttering, “Here we go.” 

“Do you not think it odd, your majesty, that this all happened so soon on the heels of your little treaty?”

Byleth’s lips parted in shock. Had she heard him correctly? Certainly his impudent tone was unmistakable. Protective instincts surged and fueled the anger bubbling in her chest as her gaze bored into the back of the margrave’s head. She was never one for outbursts and thank the goddess, for in the seconds it took to escalate, Byleth remembered that Dimitri was a king. A crown-prince no longer, he did not need her to defend him. And yet, looking at the other faces around the table, no one appeared to be unsettled or even surprised by this. All that she found were long-suffering sighs and long drinks from goblets.

Perhaps even more puzzling was the disarming consideration on Dimitri’s face. If she had looked faster, she might have seen the corner of his mouth jerk and a narrowing of his eyes before schooling his face to stillness. 

“I do not.” His voice did not share the placidity of his demeanor. It was low, heavily weighted with an intention she couldn’t identify. “It is clear that you do. Please, Margrave, tell me why that is.” 

It was then that she noted his eyes and she sucked her breath sharply through her teeth. His heavy lidded eyes were fixed on the older man with scrutinous intensity. A shiver rippled up her spine as she recalled being the object of his probing, unyielding gaze. She knew too well how his eyes, like ice, mercilessly shattered pretense to lay bare one’s secrets. 

Gautier bucked under the pressure and intensity of his attention. He brashly shifted in his chair to face the king directly and while Dimitri’s voice had softened, the margrave barreled on, giving in to his passionate speculations. 

“You truly don’t think it strange that a mere day after squandering the riches, which we claimed by divine right, that our land has begun to disappear into thin air?” The color of the margrave’s face soon matched the red of his hair as he bit each word. “Your treaty with those heathens, those blood-thirsty murderers, spits in the face of the goddess and her providence then you sit before me surprised at her wrath!” In his fervor, his fist hit the table like a boulder. The sound echoed in the empty hall. 

She could feel her pulse racing as rage filled her. She clutched at the napkin in her lap, twisting until her knuckles were white. Again, she swept her attention about the table and again she found each face unaffected. Rodrigue continued to massage the bridge of his nose, sighing occasionally with all the forbearance of a saint. Both Sylvain and Felix were preoccupied shuffling food about their plates. 

Shock gave way to disbelief as she returned to Dimitri. His love of Duscar and its people had always been an exploitable vulnerability and provocation would send him into a rage. But where she expected to see narrowed eyes and a thin grasp on control, he remained composed in the face of the thundering man seated beside him. He was eerily still, she wondered if he was breathing. 

As the echoing bang from the margrave’s fist dissipated into the air, she watched the face of her lover, no husband, and gazed in wonder at his mastery of himself. She felt suddenly small and meek as she beheld him, both were feelings accustomed to her. At last, he spoke. 

“The people of Duscar are neither of the fowl things you have named them,” he began, somehow quelling the anger she’d seen in him before at the utterance of these derogatory names. He patiently continued as though he were dictating, somehow avoiding condescension as he drove his point home. “What we pillaged from the people of Duscar was no gift of the goddess and my father would never have sanctioned it. I cannot return the lives that were taken but I will continue my father’s work and mend the damage my predecessor did.” 

Gautier laughed loudly, unashamed or unable to control his furious disdain. Hazel eyes blazed and the mustache at his lip quivered. “Your father! Now there was a King of Lions. Rodrigue, your father and I carved out the land we’re on now from Sreng with our own blood and sweat. By the grace of the goddess we conquered what was ours. You are provoking her into reclaiming what she’s given by failing to recognize her providence. Mend the damage,” he repeated and then spat on the floor. “You dishonor Lambert’s memory.”

She felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and everyone at the table was holding their breath as they looked on in horror. To invoke Dimitri’s father was unthinkable and unforgivable. She could feel bile rising in her throat and then Rodrigue’s chair scraped as he began to stand and Sylvain had placed his cup on the table with a bang. 

“Philipe. That is uncalled for... “

“Your majesty what he means to say…” 

Dimitri’s raised hand and a soft shake of his head saw Rodrigue return to his seat and Sylvain sink against the back of his chair. A charged silence still filled the room. He should have hurled the dining table aside and taken the man’s thick neck in his hand to break it with an effortless squeeze. She herself would have cut Gautier to ribbons with the Sword of the Creator had he spoken of her father that way. 

Gautier’s barrel-like chest rose and fell as his heated breath puffed in and out. It was the only sound in the room. Dimitri closed his eyes looking for all the world like he was resting, his face easy but unreadable for a moment that lasted an eternity. When he chose to speak, his rich voice seemed to vibrate along the tension in the chamber. “Tell me, Philipe. What would you have me do?” 

She watched, transfixed as he dipped his chin to level cruel, icy eyes on the face of the margrave. Like daggers they pinned the older man, paralyzing him with a threat unspoken but clear as day. The danger in his gaze unsettlingly contradicted the subtle smile on his mouth and she trembled. His unadulterated strength was dangerous alone but coupled with the power of his station he was magnificent. Terrible. Unstoppable. 

Gautier hesitated as though trying to determine what, specifically, Dimitri was asking. Was he asking what he should do about the threat of the void or the appalling liberties he had taken in the heat of his anger?

“I think it should be obvious,” he stammered but Dimitri’s soft-spoken dominance silenced him. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

He took a long drink from his goblet then cleared his throat thoroughly before choosing his next words carefully. His throat must have grown exceedingly dry. Sylvain was looking nervously between his father’s face and Dimitri. 

“We should appease the goddess by burning the treaty. Burn it, your Majesty. Confess what you have done to the Central Church and, by the goddess’s grace, maybe she will spare us.” He ducked his head, giving the slightest of bows with his eyes downcast. 

Byleth released the breath she’d been holding. The humility that had suddenly manifested in the boisterous margrave dispelled the danger permeating the room. He had changed in an instance from demanding to entreating and suddenly she understood. Like all of them, the margrave was afraid. He was struggling to make sense of something that, by all accounts, was senseless. This man clung to the only thing that made sense to him, turning a coincidence into correlation. 

The room grew quiet again and all eyes were on the king. Dimitri, ignoring everyone else, remained focused on the old, frightened man seated next to him. He looked long and hard at Gautier’s lowered head. 

“Thank you, Margrave Gautier. I will take your thoughts under consideration.” 

Everyone at the table, except Dimitri, seemed to sigh with relief. Sylvain, who was never one to mask his feelings, exhaled loudly and slumped back in his seat. Felix licked his lips and shook his head. Gautier returned to his wine. 

Byleth could not tear her eyes from him and realized suddenly that her mouth was agape. Shutting her jaw with a snap she hoped that no one had noticed. The golden-haired king she watched deftly wield his power with nothing but his words could simply not be the same Dimitri from before, barely able to contain his sanity before the battle at Garreg Mach. An ache began to form in her stomach, spreading wide as though she’d been slashed at the waist. When she pressed her hand against the pain that felt visceral enough to be real. 

He would have been well within his right to kill the margrave for speaking this way. She was certain many rulers in Fodlan would have done just that. But with just a look and a word, he commanded respect and reverence from men the age of his father. Her breath shook as she tore her eyes away from him searching for anything to occupy her attention elsewhere. 

Could she have truly changed so much that a noble, a king to boot, would have wooed her and wed her? The uncertainty reared up, nearly crippling in its intensity. What could she possibly have to offer him now that he no longer needed her guidance? 

She listened as Dimitri addressed the table. “Now, have there been any improvements in the soldiers recovered from the edge?”

“We have not received an update since midday, your majesty,” said Rodrigue who had concealed whatever relief he felt when the danger had passed. “The last we were updated saw no improvement.” 

After a moment, when he did not continue, Dimitri pressed on. “Felix reported that they are incoherent. Is this still the case?”

“Yes,” replied Rodrigue haltingly. “They are saying a variety of things that don’t seem to string together.”

“Blasphemy,” muttered Gautier. Both Rodrigue and Felix looked at him from the corner of their eyes. While he did not seem to notice, Byleth made note as she continued to observe. 

“Out of an abundance of caution, the individuals have been moved from the barracks and are being monitored by members of the local clergy.” He was speaking cautiously, choosing his words carefully.

Byleth opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sylvain who was taken by a sudden fit of coughing. Gautier looked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with you, my boy?”

“Just something stuck in my throat,” Sylvain said, thumping his fist on his chest. With one last cough, he locked eyes with her and raised a cryptic eyebrow. She pursed her lips irritably. 

“When can we see them?” Dimitri continued as though nothing had happened. 

“I would not recommend an audience,” came an oily voice from the dark corridor beside the dais. As though apparating from the shadows, a tall, thin man draped in dark clerical robes stepped into the firelight. 

Stopping before the dais, he removed skeletal hands from the folds in his robes to bow his balding head first to Dimitri and then to her. The smile she offered him upon rising felt more like a wince on her face. 

“We do not yet know the true nature of this phenomenon nor its impact on the human psyche. Until I know more, I cannot allow you to risk infection or bodily harm, your majesties.” 

Dimitri did not return his smile. “Infection? What makes you think this is a disease?”

“There is no evidence to suggest otherwise, my King. We are merely proceeding with caution and continuing our observation.” 

Dimitri considered this man for a moment with an unreadable expression. At last, Sylvain stood, pushing his chair loudly in his haste to rise. “This is Father Hobbs, your Majesty. He is the clergy representative from the central church.” Then, as a hasty afterthought he added, “He’s been the spiritual leader here since I was a kid.” 

This additional context did not lighten the way Dimitri continued to evaluate the man. “Be that as it may, Father, I will see them before I depart.”

Sweat had begun to form and glisten on the man’s high forehead. “But your majesty…”

“You must have come to provide us with an update on their condition, were you not?” interjected Rodrigue, noting the darkening expression at Dimitri’s brow. 

The clergy man shifted uneasily under Dimitri’s gaze and Byleth once again felt the pull of his authority as assuredly as the pull of gravity. The tightness in her stomach twisted sharply as she noticed his set jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes, denoting his displeasure as clearly as if he were shouting. 

“You heard the king, Hobbs, deliver your report man,” said Gautier impatiently gesturing for him to proceed.

“Of course Margrave Gautier,” Father Hobbs said, ducking his head swiftly. “The patients have been moved and are resting as comfortably as possible. We will continue to care for and monitor them through the night.” 

“They are able to sleep?” asked Rodrigue. 

“They are resting,” replied Hobbs, not quite answering the question. 

“I am glad to hear this,” said Dimitri, drawing the nervous father’s attention snapping back to him. “When can we see them?” 

“Your majesty, I cannot…” 

“Enough,” Dimitri interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a sword. “These people have been injured in the service of Faerghus. I am their King and I will see them before I depart.” 

“As you wish, your majesty,” Hobbs acquiesced with a bow. “But I cannot allow you to interrupt their rest at the present. Perhaps in the morning?” 

“Of course,” said Dimitri, finally beginning to sound like himself again. “Thank you for the care you are extending to these soldiers.” 

“It is my pleasure and duty as mandated by Saint Seiros and the divine goddess.” 

The sound of a scraping chair drew their attention from the weaselly man as Rodrigue stood, placing his napkin on the table. “I’ll wager your majesty and the queen must be exhausted. It’s my understanding that lodgings have been prepared, is that so Philipe?” 

The margrave nodded and grunted his answer having returned to monosyllabic sounds in favor of words.

“Very good,” continued Rodrigue. “I will accompany you. It will do my spirit good to learn how the son of my dearest friend has been.” 

Dimitri also rose, followed quickly by everyone else at the table. His easy smile had returned to his face at the lord’s request. “It would cheer me as well to talk with you, Rodrigue.”

“Felix,” his father called. “Will you be joining us?” 

“I think not,” he replied, stretching his arms over his head. “I have some training yet to do and I have need of a partner.” Sharp golden eyes flitted to Byleth and he smirked. “It’s probably uncouth to challenge the queen to a match. Sylvain, you’ll do.” 

Sylvain rolled his neck, looking put out by the request but before he could protest, his friend and challenger had left the table and was halfway down the dining hall. “Hey!” he shouted. “Wait up!” 

Byleth watched them go, glad to find that some things may never change. It was a comfort to hear the pair of them squabbling on the way out the door as she had many times in her year at the academy. 

“I have work I must see to,” Gautier was saying as her attention drifted back. “I will trust that your accommodations are suitable, your majesty.” The margrave was near to disappearing into the shadows of yet another dark corridor with Father Hobbs a shadow at his side. 

The three of them watched as he left. Dimitri seemed on the verge of saying something when Rodrigue, flashing his dashing smile once again asked, “Shall we?” 

Lacking a proper footman, Gilbert joined them with saddlebags in toe as they were led up several flights of stairs and another maze of passages by a servant in dark livery. He lit the way with a large iron framed lantern in hand and a swift step. Like the corridor they traversed on the way to diner, only two could stand comfortably abreast and with Gilbert, who was already a broad man, shouldering additional bags, Byleth found herself walking alone behind Rodrigue and Dimitri who chatted casually along the way.

She was humming with questions and tried her best to refrain from conjecture but the absence of answers served to fuel her disquiet. What had drawn her into the void and allowed her to escape unscathed when others had not? Or perhaps she was infected and the effects of her encounter were latent, waiting to present themselves. And then there was the matter of Dimitri and their union. 

Believing that her memory would return was beginning to seem foolish if not naive. Try as she might to reconcile herself to what she had apparently become over five years, she could not make sense of their marriage. Not for lack of wanting, never that. But how in Seiros’ name had the king, the last in his line, justified a marriage with the daughter of a knight and mercenary? Fairy stories of princes and peasants were just that, tales to delight to children but she could find no other narrative to explain her current station. Sighing, she tore her eyes away from his face to trail her gaze along the cracks between stones in the walls of the corridor as they continued on. 

Presently, they arrived at the room, if one could call it simply a room. The difference from the stark halls outside to this lavish space was night and day. Byleth paused, lingering in the doorway to stare in stunned silence at the sand-colored stone room.

It was just as large as the chamber she’d set ablaze in Fhirdiad with dark, wooden furniture that gleamed in the firelight from frequent polishing. The golden gilding accentuating the furniture glittered in the fire and candle light, dazzling her in its unexpected radiance. Layered carpets of gold, green and orange covered the floor entirely and the bed was piled high with opulent pillows, blankets and furs though with the heat of the fire she doubted they would be necessary. Everything in the room was lavish and expensive looking. Byleth pressed her hands to her sides for fear of touching anything.

The men proceeded as though this magnificent room was hardly worthy of note. Dimitri unfastened his fur-lined cloak and handed it to Gilbert who then positioned himself to begin removing the king’s armor. Rodrigue dismissed Gautier’s man, asking that he tell the Margrave that the lodgings were acceptable. 

A small sound from the servant shook her out of her gawking and she realized that she was still standing in the open doorway. She smiled apologetically to the young man who in turn blushed and lowered his eyes before leaving hastily once she had moved. 

Rodrigue asked how the journey to and from Duscar had been with particular concerns about the weather and the door clicked shut behind her. Gilbert was just lifting the pauldrons off up and over Dimitri’s head when, with a rush of breath, Dimitri softly exclaimed “Finally!”

There was no time for the older man to protest as Dimitri ducked awkwardly under the armor and struggled to wrench the remaining buckle under his arm free. It popped loose with a tug and in a few long strides he closed the distance between them. 

She had been examining a delicate porcelain vase and turned at the commotion just in time to see him rushing toward her. His expression, darkened from the firelight behind him, was lost to her but as he scooped her face into his hands his intentions became clear. His lips crashed against hers with bruising force and his fingers dug into her cheeks as though he thought she would evaporate. Panting softly, he tore himself away, just long enough to scrub the hair on her face aside and sweep his eyes over her face.

“I was so afraid,” he whispered hoarsely and she knew he was speaking to himself. Confusion struck her and she too searched his face. He looked for all the world like the Dimitri she remembered who needed her just as desperately as she needed him. He looked nothing like the king sitting tall and proud in the dining chamber. 

Her eyes softened but before she could speak he drew her forward roughly grinding his lips against hers in a deep, demanding kiss that shook her to the core. His grip on her face was so firm, she had no choice but to yield. She threw her arms around him, rising on her toes to meet him. Their fierce, wrenching, clawing kiss continued until a soft apologetic voice interrupted. 

“I am sorry, your majesties but I must speak with you now that we are in private.” 

Dimitri released her face leaving small, red marks blazing on her pale cheeks where his fingers had been. A sigh shook him as he parted from her lips and he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he worked to regain his composure. She gazed up at him through the veil of her lashes, her own breath coming in hot bursts and her pulse hammering in her ears. 

He sucked his upper lip between his teeth irritably and she pursed hers in turn. Their eyes met as they tasted the other on their lips and he slowly straightened to shift his attention to Rodrigue. “Of course,” he said. His tone had very little room for warmth. “What is it?”

Rodrigue’s thin smile was regretful and Gilbert’s face was set so firmly that it might have been carved from wood. “Your majesty,” the old knight said evenly, no doubt trying to cover his embarrassment at their display. “Your armor.”

Dimitri sighed again as he stepped from her side. “Please, Rodrigue, what do you have to tell us?” he prompted as Gilbert resumed the methodical removal of his armor. 

“First,” began the slender lord turning to Byleth. “I have barely been able to contain my concern for your majesty. Felix relayed to me as quickly as possible what happened at the edge. Are you unharmed?” 

Struck by the genuine concern in his voice and eyes, Byleth nodded. “I am unharmed,” she assured him and relief rushed across his face. 

“Why did you tell us to keep this a secret?” Dimitri asked from his position in front of the hearth. With a metallic click, Gilbert had parted the silver and blue breastplate and was carefully placing the two pieces on a sturdy table beside the pauldrons, vambraces and gauntlets. The cotton shirt beneath it, damp with sweat despite its breathability, clung to his chest and sides. In the firelight it looked as though he were wearing no shirt at all. 

She blinked rapidly, banishing the image of her hands raking across his stomach and his flesh quivering with shaking breath at her touch. Had he always been such a distraction to her? Instead, she focused on Rodrigue. 

“Philipe was always the over cautious type. You have to understand that the Gautier family has guarded our northern border since before Faerghus was its own country,” he explained for her benefit. “But as he has aged, his cautious nature fringes upon paranoia.” 

She frowned and Dimitri put voice to her thoughts, lending them an incredulous tone. “What were you afraid of? That Gautier would throw her in the dungeon?” 

He had meant this in jest but the flat, unwavering gaze from Rodrigue smothered his laughter. “My goddess, Rodrigue. She is the queen consort of Faerghus. You cannot be serious.” 

“I wish that I was not.” 

“Does that mean that…”

“Yes. The soldiers that were brought here from the edge were first taken to the barracks where we believed they would be most comfortable. But it soon became clear that whatever had happened to them was not fleeting. Father Hobbs felt that they would be a risk to others if they were not secluded.”

The magnitude of what the lord was saying weighed heavy, pressing in around her. “Rodrigue, where are they being held?” she asked, still disbelieving what was slowly becoming evident. 

“They are in the dungeon below the castle, sequestered individually in jail cells should they become agitated. I’ve been assured they are comfortable and that the quiet darkness seems to sooth them.” He added that last part at the look of disgust that had begun to curl her lips. 

“Are they violent?” she asked. 

“They are not aggressive, at least, not physically but... “ he paused as though deciding what to say. She wondered what he decided to omit when he spoke again. “When questioned about their experience they became agitated, reportedly. And the sunlight seemed to make their confusion worse.”

“Agitated how?” she pressed, not satisfied with his answer. 

“I do not know first-hand, your majesty. We have not been allowed to see them. The Father believes we are too important to be potentially exposed should the madness be catching. We are reliant on what he reports to us.”

“This is abhorrent,” Dimitri’s voice seemed to rumble pulling Rodrigue about to face him. “ If Gautier and Hobbs had truly believed this was the best course of action, they would not have hidden it from me.” 

“Please, calm yourself, your majesty,” soothed Rodrigue. He alone seemed immune to Dimitri’s ill temper. “We do not know why they were affected this way. Others have looked into the void, just as they, but are not babbling enigmatic. The queen herself fell into the pit but is not raving or adverse to light. Until we know more, I implore you to consider all angles.” 

At a snort from her, he turned, his eyes entreating patience. “Philipe is not an evil man. He is doing what he believes to be right to preserve the safety of his people.” 

“Just because he believes it, doesn’t mean it is.” 

Lowering his eyes, he sighed. He knew that she was right and could plead his case no further. 

“I heard Philipe say the word blasphemy at dinner. What did he mean by that?” Whether he meant to or not, Dimitri had diffused an argument with a new question she’d all but forgotten.

Rodrigue’s mouth tightened, looking suddenly old and grim. “Father Hobbs reports that they are speaking in religious riddles. I don’t know if this is true or if it is incited through the rhetoric used by Hobbs and the nuns overseeing their care. One of the soldiers insists that he is the goddess and attests that he did not create this world. Another states that there is no goddess here, that our existence is accidental and not divinely crafted. They all state that the darkness is the source of creation.”

“Blasphemy indeed,” breathed Gilbert who was, himself a devout follower of the church. He lowered himself into one of the chairs surrounding the table holding Dimitri’s armor. 

“Sylvain assures me that these soldiers are dedicated members of the church so it seems unlikely that they would say these things of their volition. It is also second-hand information. I have no doubt that Hobbs is trying to piece together an explanation for something that cannot be explained.” He spread his hands, shaking his head as though he too had no firm grasp on the situation. 

She felt sick to her stomach but kept her feet planted, knowing that if she moved she might faint. This was all happening too fast. Just as she had come to grips with one thing, another came barreling down on top of her. She could not tell, glancing from face to face, if everyone else felt as overwhelmed as she but the silence that blanketed the room felt strained. 

“Your majesties, if I might offer my insight.” Byleth jumped as Gilbert spoke and looked to find him gazing intently into the fire that continued to crackle away. 

Dimitri who still remained standing with his back to the fire with his chin resting in his hand granted him the floor with a slight nod. Which he took by rising to stand stiffly, tucking his arms formally behind his back. 

“While I do not agree with the margrave’s conclusion regarding the abyss, I suspect that it may have some connection to the church. The darkness is too absolute to be natural,” he paused to wet his lips anxiously as he recalled the abyss. “And after Duke Fraldarius’s report, my suspicions seem all the more likely.” 

“You speak as though you have a course of action in mind.” Dimitri gestured for him to continue.

“The millennium festival marks one thousand years since the founding of the Church of Seiros. It is not the festival itself that brings me to question but rather, a rite that has been performed annually since the church’s founding. Surely it is significant that such a sacrament might have been enacted one thousand times. This is all conjecture, your majesties. Even when I served at the monastery as a knight, I was not privy to the religious rites and ceremonies that took place there.” 

Dimitri chuckled mirthlessly. “My beloved. Did we not agree to hold a reunion during the millennium festival?” She looked at him, questioning why he would think of that now with a raised eyebrow.

“Even if I am mistaken, the archbishop should be made aware of what is happening,” Gilbert concluded.

“You are right, Gilbert,” said Dimitri after a moment’s contemplation. Then, as though deciding for himself, he released his chin and straightened. “Make arrangements for tomorrow. We will make use of Gautier’s warpers to reach Fhirdiad and then depart from there as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, your Majesty,” he said with a stiff, formal bow. 

“I can’t say I am surprised that Felix did not mention a reunion to me,” Rodrigue mused as Gilbert passed him on the way to the door. “Ah well. I will prepare him to depart with you tomorrow and I am sure that Philipe will wish to send Sylvain to represent his interests.” 

Dimitri bade them farewell and Byleth, having regained a fraction of her composure, saw them to the door. She felt his eyes on her before she shut the door silently. Her lips still tingled from the way he had kissed her a few moments ago. She felt light headed again at the recollection. Turning slowly, she shifted back to lean on the sturdy wooden door. 

A quiet had settled into the space, peaceless and compact as she waited for him to speak. Perhaps he was waiting on her to do the same. She had seen him wear two different identities this night and witnessed him switch between the two with hardly a breath between. She wondered as she studied his lithe silhouette which was waiting for her now that they were alone.


	6. Tip Your Hand

The silence that had begun with the closing of the door to their room had grown thick, pregnant with expectation. The weight of everything that had happened in the last two days added to that heaviness, tying her tongue as she cycled through any number of things to say. None of them seemed the right thing but the quiet, disrupted only by the crackling of the fire behind Dimitri, squeezed against her. She felt small and insignificant. She hated feeling this way, but it lingered more often than not since yesterday. 

He turned toward the fire, chin low and eyes downcast. His shoulders rose and fell with his breath and she could see his fingers flexing and curling at his sides. “I…” he shook his head. Whatever he’d intended to say changed. “I am sorry, Byleth.” 

Of all that she thought he would say, this was the last thing she expected. She hesitated to respond, hoping that he would continue to expand on what he was thinking. When he did not she asked, “What are you apologizing for?” 

A wry laugh huffed out of him. “Which should I begin with? There was the abyss that I failed to protect you from. My feckless ability to lead the lords of my kingdom and the loss of your memory that we’ve not even begun to address.” As he spoke, he raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing his fingertips against his brow. “This was not what I had imagined our reunion to be.” 

She peered at him, still confused by the guilt she could plainly hear in his voice. 

“What kind of King commands so little respect that the idea of seizing the queen could take root?” His fingers dragged across his brow to curl into a tight fist, squeezing so hard that his arm shook. 

“It is unthinkable!” The fist at his forehead slammed against the marble mantle with such speed that she hardly saw it, but the sound of its impact made her jump. Convinced that he had broken his hand, she pushed up from the door to move quickly toward him. Oblivious to her, he raked that hand through his hair and as she neared him she could clearly see the tension tremmoring through his arms.

A stray glance to the mantel piece found cracks spidering away from the hollow left by his fist with a prominent single break running through the stone. Clasping his forearm, she tried to pull his hand down to inspect it but as she did his attention snapped to her and as if he’d just noticed her. 

His wild visage caught her by surprise and his hands closed, vicelike, around her arms before she could say a word. Her stomach leapt into her throat and she instinctively tried to back away, but he held her tightly in place. 

“If anyone had so much as touched you...” What had begun as a low growl erupted into a shout and it took every ounce of control she had not to wince away from the rage burning hot in his eyes.

“I should have killed him at dinner for his impudence alone. I should have beaten his skull to pieces and have his corpse paraded about the kingdom!” The fury within him pitched and the throes of his rage twisted his face. The pupils of his eyes had dilated in his delirium and her voice caught in her throat, refusing to respond to her. Dimitri released his grip on her with such force as she launched himself toward the chamber door that she stumbled. 

“I will drag him screaming to the courtyard and tear him to pieces, beginning with his tongue!” he bellowed, hurling a chair from out of his path. The sturdy piece shattered as it collided with the stone wall of the room. 

“Dimitri stop!” she ordered, straightening and squaring herself toward him. She must have retained enough of her power as his professor to give him pause because he obeyed with a jerk. 

“Why should I?” he roared as he turned to face her. “They think I am weak? I will show them how wrong they are!”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “You are too angry.” She had clearly overestimated the control he exhibited at dinner. He had not mastered his anger but rather pushed aside to bide its time and overwhelm him when provoked.

“Haven’t I the right to be?” Her heart softened at the sound of his voice as it cracked under the weight of his anger. 

“Yes.” 

She surprised him with her complicity and it was enough to startle him out of his consuming rage. A faint smile spread on her lips as she realized he had expected her to disagree. Didn't he know that she could never deny him? 

“I couldn’t understand how you restrained yourself before. The things that the Margrave said are unforgivable.”

He filled her vision and her body moved of its own accord toward him, drawn by a need to touch him. He watched with wide, uncertain eyes. Goddess did he think she was tricking him? 

“You once told me to bide my time and I did. I am telling you now to let this fire cool and discover what remains when it does.” She was so close that she had to tilt her head back to look into his face. She could smell his skin this close, the musk and salt-smell of having worn his armor all day mingled with the outside earthy scene. Breathing deeply, his scent made her legs weak. He was so still that he could have been made of stone. All except his eyes. She could almost hear the argument happening behind them. 

Reaching up, she brushed his hair back from his face to clear a space for her palm. His eyes shut lightly at her touch and he turned into her hand, but his chest continued to rise and fall in an irregular rhythm. 

“I wish I knew what to do,” he murmured as his fingers closed gently around her wrist. The feel of his fingertips brought heat to her cheeks and his breath sent shivers up her arm. No matter how often she reminded herself that they had been married for more than a year, being this close to him still felt new and forbidden. 

His fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her hand in place as he pressed his lips to the heel of her hand. Her stomach knotted at the feel of his teeth sinking into her skin to graze heavily without breaking the skin. The heat in her cheeks blazed red-hot and she discovered there was no longer a gap between their bodies as he captured her other wrist. 

“I am sorry,” he was saying softly in the space between kisses placed on her fingertips. “I lost control of myself” 

Byleth tried to swallow the emotion welling in her throat but the sensations racing through her arm at the sight of his head tilted as he planted a kiss on her palm, then her wrist gave her voice a mind of its own. 

“No.” 

The blue of his eyes blazed to life as he looked at her. She met them, and her illusions of control fractured. 

“It is a part of you and I mean to have all of you.”

She watched as a wide breadth of emotion cycled like lightning across his eyes. It happened so fast that she could not name them, but his mouth moved forming small soundless words and his fingers tightened around her hands. In a sudden rush of boldness, she rolled up onto her toes to catch his mouth with her own. His breath hitched before she felt him press down to meet her. Breathlessly, she pulled away and he leaned forward to pursue halting only when she spoke. 

“I am ready to see all of you.” 

Surprise melted to disbelief on his face and he swallowed audibly. His jaw muscles worked, betraying his clenching teeth. Despite the nerves swelling in her stomach she continued to meet his gaze evenly, schooling her face to calm. She was certain if she looked away he would doubt her resolve and sincerity. 

Soundlessly and suddenly, he released her wrists and grabbed her waist to pull her against him with a harsh jerk. Her eyes widened in surprise, but he continued to watch with an expressionless face as though he were evaluating her. Testing her word. She did not recoil or pull away. 

Again, he tested her, eyes keenly fixed on her face as he snaked his arms about her frame with a brazen disregard for his strength. Byleth gasped, her breath driven out by the crushing power of his arms and the feel of his fingers contracting along her back. Images of the crack in the marble mantle flashed through her mind and she suddenly felt as though she were about to be devoured. 

Uncertainty sprang into his eyes and he loosened his hold on her. Before he could drop his arms entirely, before he allowed his doubt to take hold, she clamped her hands to the back of his neck. Forcing him to focus on her face, her steady eyes. Silencing the small voice of caution within her, she said “I am not afraid.” 

“I am,” he whispered, lowering his face to her neck. Her skin sizzled at the heat of his breath and the timid brushes of his lips. 

A heavy sigh parted her lips and she tilted her head, lengthening the column of her neck for him. “What are you afraid of?”

Either his confidence was returning or his appetite for her further whetted because she felt his fingers flex on her back and his tongue against her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as he dragged his lips up to take her earlobe in his teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

His voice made her shiver. 

The tip of his tongue dipped into the curve of her ear sending tingles rushing through her legs and down her spine. “I trust you.” Her voice trembled as his breath rushed into her ear. 

“I may not be able to recover myself,” his voice trembled too but for a different reason than she. 

Frowning, Byleth pulled her head back to peer up into his face. Shame clouded his eyes and embarrassment colored his cheeks. Placing her hands on his chest, she could feel the strong, rapid heartbeat beneath. “Have you forgotten who and what I am?” 

He blinked at the question and his brow furrowed as though he were seeing her clearly for the first time. Perhaps they had grown so comfortable together that he had indeed forgotten. His lips parted but no words came. Surely, he’d been told his whole life that his strength was dangerous and must be controlled.

“Come. Show me what you’ve been hiding.” 

Hesitation played on his face while, lurking just behind, she could see the sparks waiting to ignite. The gentle kiss he placed on her lips was at odds with what she knew he wanted to do. She realized as she faithfully returned his tenderness that he may need time to adjust to the idea of baring himself to her in this way.

Perhaps sooner than she’d anticipated, his chest billowed beneath her hands with a deep, shuddering breath and he deepened his kiss. She tilted her head to welcome his tongue with her own, rolling it across his, finding it wet and warm and greedy. His breath hitched, and he ground his lips against hers, the hair on his upper lip and chin scratched her face. 

His hands began to move, one up to cradle her neck in his palm, making her skin prickle beneath his touch. The other descended over the small of her back to rest on the round, cheek of her ass to squeeze and knead the ample flesh there. Her hips rolled at each flex of his fingers, grinding against his pelvis. She could feel his arousal filling beneath his trousers. The contact drove him to push his tongue pushed further into her mouth as he rumbled with pleasure. He squeezed again, and she rocked against him but instead of releasing her, he sank his fingers harshly into her muscle until she flexed involuntarily.

Byleth gasped at the shooting pain forking through her hips but curiously it stoked the adrenaline already buzzing in her limbs. Her sex pulsed in response. She ground her lips up, matching the demanding, ravenous pace of her lover. His sound of surprise was muffled and instantly devoured by their soft pants and moans as their lips and tongues wrestled. He released his claw like hold on her but did not permit her distance from his groin and thighs. 

His long fingers groped their way up her neck to tangle in her hair to tangle boorishly tearing through the pins and braid. Water gathered in the corners of her eyes from the pinching, sharp pain shooting through her scalp. He remained unaware of her discomfort, his eyes were closed, and he knew nothing but the feel of her body against him and the taste of her tongue in his mouth. 

Then he was moving, stepping quickly and twisting her along as he did. She stumbled along awkwardly and blindly trying to keep up. Perhaps it would have been easier if she’d gone limp and allowed him to drag her. 

With just a glimpse from the corner of her eye and a breath of a moment to brace herself, her back slammed against the wall. The force of the impact would have whipped her head back if he’d not secured her head in his hand. The air pushed out of her rushed into his mouth which had not left hers for a moment during his maneuver. He pressed against her in an instant, pinning her with the bulk of his body. With no further need to hold her in his hands, he released her ass and pulled his hand from her hair to grope at her side. 

With one arm supporting him against the wall, the other was free to rake up her ribs and across her breast before his palm closed atop her breast. He was so tall. Taller than she remembered, and his supporting arm easily arced over her head. His touch was rough enough to feel through the padding of her tunic. She was sweltering in the thick riding clothes and yet his touch spurred her to arch into his hand as best she could with so little space between the wall, herself and Dimitri. 

At last he abandoned her mouth and she gasped for air. Her panting soon carried her moans as well when he decided down her throat. His mouth felt like a brand on her neck where he’d latched, lapping at her frantic pulse with a thick tense tongue. She could not tell if it was sweat or saliva she felt dripping down her neck, nor did she care. Her breath heaved, and her toes flexed in her boots as pleasure coursed through her limbs. Her core ached and his own sex, now prominent even under his clothes, seemed to throb in time with her own. 

With a shuddering breath, his lips left her neck and his forehead pressed against her temple. She turned into him, desperately searching for his lips again but, pinned as she was, he took hold of her chin to turn her away, leaving her jaw free for the taking. Feather-weight kisses tickled her jaw and she leaned into his lips. He released her chin. 

“Am I hurting you?” Byleth quivered as he spoke. The sound of his voice so close to her ear, low and thick drove every coherent thought from her head. Her eyes shut at the sound of him. “Answer me.” 

Byleth wetted her lips. She needed time to tame her breath enough to speak. “No.”

His next breath expelled a short, pleased laugh then he was pressing the flat of his tongue to her jaw and dragging it up to her ear. “Of course not.” His voice remained thick, rasping from panting breaths. “I underestimated your strength these years, my beloved.”

She could only whimper in response. Her legs wobbled and had he not been supporting her, she’d have fallen to the floor. His praises whispered to her as his knee shifted to part her legs ignited her blood, she felt as though she were melting. Soft laughter rumbled in his chest. 

“Should I release you?”  
“No.”  
“So quick to answer.” 

She could feel him take her hands in his. Their fingers intertwined and clung together, palm to palm; intimate and connected. He shifted her arms, pulling her hands along until they were over her head. A single hand was all he needed to hold her about her wrists as though she were shackled to the wall. 

He pushed his leg further until she straddled him, his thigh spreading her to press up against her slit. The pressure against her prompted a slow rocking of her hips to grind against him. Pleasure shot through her core with each grind of her hips and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip, holding back the moans she felt threatening to breach as she exaggerated her movement. She rolled her hip purposefully against his cock, now fully engorged and bulging prominently against her. He was not so coy, as he picked up the rhythm of their laborious, rocking dance. Lusty sounds wrung out of him accompanied each hitch in his breath. 

“I can feel your heat through your clothes,” he murmured. “I wonder. Are you wet for me too?” 

Her toes wiggled in her shoes and her pulse surged to beat in her ears. She wanted him to touch her so badly that she was near begging. Her core pulsed painfully in anticipation of him. It was with agonizing slowness that he slipped his hand beneath her tunic to loop a teasing finger past the line of her pants. Her stomach quivered at his touch. She was sweltering beneath her clothes. It took only a moment for his knuckle to hear from her skin. Then, he took hold of the band below her navel and pulled. 

The stitching at the seams on her hips gave way, popping and ripping with minimal effort from him. With a torturous drag of his thigh, he pulled it from between her legs which allowed the fabric to fall forward. Her undergarments were scant beneath the thick riding pants and the cold air rushed in against the damp fabric between her legs where her arousal had pooled. She shivered and squirmed against his hand still anchored to the wall above her head though she was not inclined to escape. 

He watched her face with keen interest as his free hand trailed lightly along the top of a thigh. The fine hairs on her leg raised beneath his touch. His sigh was heavy with satisfaction as he teased her. Her lips parted with her breath and soft moans, anticipation mounting within her as he traced the slit between her mound and her plush thigh. Once again, he exhibited his knowledge of her that outpaced her own. She loved when he did that. 

Byleth thought she would burst if he teased her any longer and pulled against his restraining hand, testing his strength but he held tight. Her frustrated huff dissolved into a moan as he fanned his fingers one by one along the crotch of her small clothes until she felt the flat of his palm press up to cover her opening. He tested and prodded through the cloth. Dimitri hummed as his breath spilled from his nostrils, warming her cheek where he had pressed his own. 

“You are positively dripping.” His voice was so close to her ear and his hold on her sex sent heat raging like fire across her skin. She writhed helplessly in his hands. Her breath hitched and tumbled out of her as he pushed the wet sopping crotch of her under clothes aside and pushed his index finger between her swollen outer lips. He dipped then dragged the finger along the length, brushing past her clit as he did so. 

Again she writhed, nearly swinging from his hand above her head. He paused to glance up at her hands as she watched him from behind half lidded eyes. “Wiggle your fingers.” 

She did as she was told.  
“Good girl.”

His grin was pleased and he loosened his hold around her wrists slightly but she still couldn’t pull herself free. His grip was like steel. He leaned closer and kissed the corner of her mouth, resisting her as she tried to turn and capture his lips. His free hand was once again at her hip, and his fingers beneath the band at her hip. He pulled and the seam at her side gave way instantly. The leg hole of the other side remained untorn and the now loosened fabric whispered down her leg to gather where the inseam of her pants remained suspended between her legs. 

His fingers raked through the tuft of hair atop her sex and she shivered. Her inner walls contracted and her hips bucked as he neared the valley between her legs. She could hear nothing but her breath and the blood in her ears. 

“Ask me.” 

She looked at him through her lashes and found him staring at her, his eyes like ice despite the red in his cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal. In the haze of her distraction she couldn’t understand what he’d asked her. 

“What?” she panted.  
“Ask me,” he repeated. 

Color blanched on her face and her stomach twisted along with her hips. The thought of asking him and the pleased response she’d receive from him thrilled her in a way she’d never known. Swallowing her pride and wetting her lips she met his gaze. 

“Please,” she stammered “Please touch me.” 

Humming again, he pressed his lips to hers, a brief reward, and the relief of connecting was instant. She melted against him parting her lips for his tongue even before prompted. He raked through the curled hair atop her sex one again and then parted her lips with confident fingers. Byleth twisted her lips against his as he pushed two fingers through her engorged lips to breach her. He promptly added a third, stretching her wider. Her head rocked back, pulling away from his lips which twisted into a cock-sure grin. 

She rocked her hips, driving his fingers further into the depths of her, grinding against his hand which he’d secured against her mound like a glove. Sweat began to bead on her face as he curled his fingers inside of her, stroking along her pulsing walls as she chased her pleasure against his battle-hardened palm. She writhed, suspended by her wrists against his hand between her legs. He was so tall. Had he always been so tall? 

His breath puffed against her face, his excitement heightened and evident by the size of his erection that bulged and pulsed long against her hip. Her legs wobbled and her teeth sank into her swollen bottom lip. 

“Seeing you undone in my hand…” Again his breath spilled out of him as he reveled in his control. “Beloved, it’s so hard to wait.” 

And then he sealed his lips to that spot on her neck. She’d only discovered it the day before but he knew it too well. Her eyes snapped open, nearly bulging they were so wide as lightning forked down her neck to join the storm in her stomach. She could feel her insides swelling around his fingers then clench inhibiting his movements each time he sucked at her neck. Faster she rocked against his palm and when she teetered on the edge ready to plummet he stopped abruptly. Panting, she looked at him with wild, pleading eyes. 

He sucked his upper lip between his teeth as he pulled his hand from between her legs. Her slick glistened on his fingers up to the second knuckle as he raised them to his lips. She watched, transfixed. Her body continued to hum and burn and ache. She gulped at the air and he watched her through half-closed lids. He breathed deeply of her scent before his tongue appeared to lick them clean. 

“You’re ready,” he said almost to himself and he released her arms. She felt ravenous, driven mad from hunger and thirst. She must have looked wild with her hair torn partway from her braid and her clothing ripped but the moment she could she threw her arms around his neck to kiss him again as if she were an animal freed from a cage. He caught her about the ribs and lifted her with no effort allowing her the satisfaction of assailing his mouth with her lips and tongue.

The next she knew she ‘d been tossed and landed with her back on the bed with a bounce and he was standing before her taking his belt off. She swung her arms wide, knocking pillows off the bed in a frenzy to make room and was then trying to roll what remained of her pants off her legs. Much to her frustration, they stopped at her boot tops.

Before she could try to undo her boot laces, she saw Dimitri’s hands close on the remaining inseam of her pants. Byleth laid back and he tore them apart. Her legs were free now, though still clothed in tatters and she swung them wide expecting him to crawl up after her. Instead, he grabbed hold of her booted ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed with a jerk. 

With legs dangling over the edge of the bed she propped herself up on her elbows to see him clearly.

His mane of hair, freed from the tie at the back of his head, obscured part of his face accentuating the bestial way he was looking at her. Curiously, he was still fully clothed except for the front of his pants which he’d undone to pull himself free. His cock was fully erect and magnificent, supported at the base of the shaft with his hand. He pumped his hand absently, pushing pre-come out to glisten at the tip before beading and falling in shimmering strands. 

He was close enough to touch, nearly hovering over her. She’d been restrained long enough and her fingers ached to feel his skin beneath them. In a frenzied rush, Byleth pushed herself up and took hold of his hips before he could take hold of her again. He sucked his breath through his teeth at the feel of her fingers on his skin. He watched her roll up his shirt and press her lips to his stomach, just below his navel. The salt on his skin made her lips tingle so she tilted her head to press the flat of her tongue to him, licking his skin which quivered delightfully under her tongue.

With a trembling hand, he laced his fingers through her hair to push her firmly against his skin. Another long draw of her tongue nearly bent him over with a jerk, she placed her hand atop of his to take his place at the base of his cock. The girth was almost too much for her hand to close fully around but she managed with a squeeze that ripped a strangled sound from his throat. 

The feel of him in her hand was overwhelmingly intoxicating and she turned to press her cheek against him so that she could look down to observe the weight of his sex in her hand as she stroked down the length of him. His skin was so smooth and soft, almost delicate but roped with strong, prominent veins along the shaft. When she reached the base of the bulbous head, she had to loosen her grip enough to pass over it. He jerked as she did. If her breath had not been so labored, she might have grinned to herself as she pushed her hand back up to the base. 

The bestial sounds of his groans and the contracting of his fingers in her hair with each stroke she made was hypnotic. His fingers tightened in her hair, clutching her, pushing her head against his stomach. His free hand grabbed at her breast again kneading through the thick tunic. Frustration sounded, mingled with his increasingly shameless moans and he began to move his hips in time, slowly thrusting into her hand as she worked. 

After having been restrained for so long, the feeling of control she felt as she pumped her hand up and down his length was exhilarating. Each time his stomach flexed and his chest jerked forward at her motions widened the grin on her face. His fingers tightened in her hair and another growl sounded in his chest as she squeezed and twisted her hand along the head of his cock, her palm sticky from his ejaculate. With that final twist, he could take no more. He tore his hand from her hair pulling strands with it in his sweaty fingers as he did eliciting a hiss from her. 

She released him as quickly as he’d begun to move with shocking speed for someone who could barely form words only moments ago. Moving like a predatory animal, he grabbed the neck of her tunic and pulled to rip it open from top to bottom, another grip at the neckline of her undershirt pulled down followed with a grip from his other hand at the centerline of her brassiere and another pull down and the seams gave way. Peeling her clothing with the ease that someone might use to unpeel a ripe fruit. In a flurry of motion she was left breathless by the speed and deftness of this but before she could recover, he’d gripped her by her waist and tossed her back onto the large bed. 

The mattress dipped with his weight as he crawled up to join her. Raised up on her elbows she watched as he moved on his hands and knees. His eyes were partially obscured from beneath his loose hair and his erection bounced, heavy and intimidating between his legs. Not for the first time since they stood near the doorway, Byleth’s mouth ran dry and she felt as though she were about to be consumed. 

Without a word he pushed her knees apart, splaying her on the bed. Sitting up on his knees, his eyes examined her body, lingering on the most sensitive parts until she could stay still no longer. She waited with bated breath, begging him silently to touch her again. Her nipples hardened under his gaze and she squirmed without thinking as desire and need filled her under his scrutiny. How she must have looked, her arms and calves still clothed and surrounded with the tatters of her ruined clothing. 

Whether he was toying with her or oblivious to the need filling her to burst she didn’t know, but Dimitri moved with agonizing slowness to take one of her marbled nipples into his mouth. A long, unabashed moan accompanied her exhale and her insides clenched to feel his tongue against the sensitive flesh, rock hard in his mouth. Her other breast was not to be neglected, his palm closed at her, kneading and toying as he sucked at the other. 

His fingers closed on her nipple, pinching lightly at first but increasing the pressure until she cried out despite herself. Raising his head, he pulled back on the other until the suction released with a pop and then rested his cheek against it to watch his fingers play with the other. A pull and snap back had her arching her back. A twist and she writhed, raising her arms over her head to press her face to her sleeve. Her nipple, already red from desire was soon purple from use. 

The quivering and shaking that ravaged her was now incessant. Her toes were numb in her boots from flexing against the leather confines. The need for him inside of her felt like it would overwhelm her at any moment. 

“Forgive me my indulgences, my beloved.” He lifted himself over her and her hips raised off the bed, an invitation, a pleading to be filled to quell the burning ache inside herself. He smirked at her eagerness. “You have been so good.” 

His cheeks were red and his eyes expectant. Byleth licked her dry lips watching his face, his eyes were locked on her own, departing just long enough to position himself. She felt the push of the head of his cock at her engorged entrance. He rocked his hips, pushing forward past the lips of her sex. She winced and breathed deeply, trying to relax, willing herself to open wider to accept him. His arms trembled on either side of her and his eyes shut as he pushed slowly forward. 

Their breath hitched in unison, Byleth as she stretched to accommodate his girth and he at the pressure of her slick, tight pussy squeezing against him. While his progress was slow, it remained steady without retreat. The veins on his neck began to show as he pushed, filling her, forcing her to part for him. The pressure and pain of taking all of him was exquisite and her fingers clutched at the bedding beneath her. 

With a grunt and final drive forward, his hips met her thighs. Filled fully and completely, with each panting breath she heaved she felt herself close around him inside her. He jerked against her in several short bursts working split her even further. A heavy satisfied groan tore out of him and he lowered his face to hers. She raised both her chin and her hips to accept his mouth and invite him deeper inside her.

Hips and mouth ground down against her and Byleth gasped into his mouth. His hair surrounded her, a golden screen separating them from the world around them. His tongue assailing her mouth occupied her so fully that she didn’t realize how her body had stretched to accommodate his sex within her own until he gave a quick, shallow in and out as though testing her readiness. 

His mouth twisted against her and he withdrew his tongue. Her eyes opened and met his just inches away, hovering above her and hazy with arousal. “Ready?” he mumbled, giving another more prominent draw and pump of his hips with a lewd slap against her thighs. 

Her reply was obscured completely by her breathy, gasping groan as he filled her again.

“Good girl,” he growled. 

And then he’d pulled completely out of her and before she could recover from the exquisite friction against her insides he took hold of her ankles and lifted first one leg and then the other to positioned them on his shoulders. The pull and burn of her muscles as they stretched provided a brief relief from the building pressure within her. 

Seeing first the boot and what remained of her pant leg and then the other with tatters of pants and the remnants of her under clothes, she felt an embarrassment creep from her gut up to her face. She looked like she had been mauled by an animal and, in a way, she had. He had torn her clothing from her body with little thought or care besides exposing what he wanted and she, ashamedly, had reveled in it. And now, here she was, nearly doubled in half moments before he would assuredly fuck her into oblivion.

Lips parted with heavy breath, his own pants pulled below his knees he’d taken only what he needed from the confines of his clothing. He grasped her hips, his hand sinking into the curvy flesh of her hip, holding her in place. “Ask me,” he growled through clenched teeth. His cock, still shining with her slick rocked against her slit, heavy and thick. She quivered and whimpered in response. 

Byleth attempted to raise her hips, to push herself against his cock and fill herself if he would not oblige. His eyes narrowed but the toothy grin that spread across his face gave away the playful satisfaction beneath his display of displeasure. 

“Ask me,” he repeated and sank his fingers into the flesh of her hip, digging his nails into her. 

She was fretting her upper lip and her body trembled with urgency, the pain from his fingers at her hips made her try for a second time to buck her hips forward but to no avail. The cold air in the room broke her skin out in goosebumps as sweat began to bead on the surface. 

“Beg for me.” 

Again, the humiliation of her predicament agitated the fire in her stomach. Even through the burning on her cheeks she met his gaze evenly. Yes, her tongue would beg but she would meet him head on the best she could through her unsteady breath. “P… please,” she managed. “Please, Dimitri.”

His brows furrowed at the whimpering sound of his name and a tremulous sighed shook out of him. “I’ll comply.” With a brutal thrust of his hips he plugged past her lips, forcing his way into her. 

Her eyes shot wide and her mouth gaped soundlessly as her breath caught in her throat. He sheathed so tightly inside of her, she flexed against him and spikes of pain and pleasure rolled through her like wildfire. She heard him clearly over her panting, a strangled groan as he hit her innermost wall. He released her hips and fell forward to support himself with an arm on either side of her hips. Her own pelvis rolled with him, pushing her thighs as far back as her ligaments would allow. Dimitri turned his head and sank his teeth into the meat of her calf as he rolled further into her. 

Having caught her breath only to lose it again with a wail of ecstasy as he marked her, Byleth threw her arms up to thud against his back. She dug her nails into the fabric of his shirt, balling it in her fists as she held on for dear life. With a shaking breath he pumped his hips back and then thrust forward again with similar speed and force. Byleth cried out again as he split her again and again, releasing him to fall back against the bed where she threw her face to the side, rutting into the blankets that had gathered around her. 

At last her body adjusted to his assault and he could move freely in and out of her. With renewed vigor, he thrust and rolled and ground against her as her legs bounded against his shoulders. His own sounds were all grunts and groans and growls as he mercilessly drove into her. The scrunched concentration on her face gave way to immense intense pleasure at each slapping beat of his hips against the back of her thighs. Her lips while parted with her panting breath, curved up into a joyous smile at being ravaged and enjoyed by him. Her body shook and jolted with the force of each driving thrust. It felt like the entire world moved with his strength. 

“Look at me!” 

His rasping, growling voice hardly sounded like him and it jarred her out of her stupor. Her eyes sprang open and looking up she found his face had softened though his pace remained unchanged. She struggled to remain focused on his face as her body shook and jolted with the force of his driving thrusts. 

“Please,” he managed between thrusts and catches of breath. “Smile... at me.” 

Her eyes widened at this unexpected turn then melted as the request sank in. She reached up to push his hair back from his face with her hands, collecting the strands in her fingers and pressing her sweat coated palms to his blazing cheeks. With his face unobscured, their eyes met. Her adoration and the feeling of him inside of her merged into a soft beautiful smile. How could she have ever existed without him? At the sight of her beneath him, his face softened and he turned to kiss her palm affectionately. 

All she could hear was her blood pounding in her ears and their breath mingled with glorious pleasure, straining as they pursued one another’s climax.

And then the sounds they made shifted, tightened into strained moans and cries and gasps. She rocked her hips in time with his grinding rhythm between thrusts as her insides twisted and tightened. 

They rolled together in time and it was not difficult to smile again, seeing his face beaded in sweat and flushed with building pressure. She gasped as her inner walls clamped around him, stifling his movements. Her spine arched and her arms flew out against the bed as every muscle in her body locked. Dimitri looped a forearm under her lower back and ground down with such force that she thought she would snap in half. 

Byleth screamed his name as light exploded across her eyes and her body convulsed in his arms. Resisting the hold of her orgasm, he continued to rock against her, pushing as much as he could as his own breath hitched and his body tightened. Again his name was torn from her lips as another spasm shook her. 

No sooner had her orgasm rushed through her then shouted. A wordless, strained sound that seemed ripped from his soul. His hips bucked against her as she filled her with wetness that seeped out to drip and pool beneath her. With heaving breaths, he released her and she parted her legs to clear the way for him to collapse on top of her. 

She felt at once an overwhelming relief. Her body hummed and tingled all over and she raised an arm to stroke a hand down his sweat drenched back. He shuddered again, whether from her caresses or an aftershock she couldn’t tell. With her other shaking hand, she pushed strands of hair back from his face.

After a moment of respite, he shifted to pull out of her, groaning as he did and rolled over off of her. She stared at the ceiling, the fire light danced on the stone above and she recalled where they were. Only now, things didn’t seem so bleak. She groped for his hand. Their fingers brushed together and then closed around the other. 

She was surprised to hear him speak in such a level voice after such exertion. “I broke a promise to you.” 

Blinking, she crashed back to reality from her euphoria and turned her head to look at him. Dimitri sprawled on his back, his hair fanned out, his cock still engorged and swollen resting out along his stomach. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling though his gaze seemed to go beyond it. 

“I swore to you that I would protect you. I swore this to you no more than a day ago and I have already failed you.” 

Byleth pushed herself up onto her elbow to see him more clearly but he did not shift to meet her gaze. “There was nothing you could have done.”

He shook his head “I saw you start down the hill but I couldn’t do anything but stare at it. I saw you running but I was powerless. If Felix hadn’t…” he stopped abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut against what he did not want to say. 

She reached to him, taking hold of his arm as though to pull his attention back to her but he did not budge. 

“I should have been the one to catch you,” his voice shook with passion and self-loathing. “But I was too weak of mind to save you.” 

Warmth spread through her chest as a gentle smile appeared on her lips. “Dimitri,” she placed her fingers on his cheek and turned him to face her. Anguish and shame shone in his eyes. “I wanted to fall. I didn’t say so earlier because I didn’t want to worry you but I heard that music and the pull was so strong... If you hadn’t reached out to me… if it had been anyone but you…” 

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“So you see. You did save me.” 

After an inordinately long, silent moment he covered her hand with his. “My beloved… All of this time I’ve been swearing to stay by your side when what I really wanted to ask was that you stay by mine. Please. Promise me that you will never leave me.” He plucked her hand from his face and pressed her palm to his heart. 

The longer she gazed at his face and felt the beating of his heart beneath her hand the softer she became. How could she ever deny him anything? 

“Yes.” She nodded. “I will never leave you, my heart. My beating heart.” 

He lifted his chin and she leaned to meet his mouth sealing her promise with a kiss. When they parted they gazed at each other each drinking in the other and the quiet of this shared movement. 

Finally, she could no longer hold back a jaw cracking yawn. The spell was certainly broken when he too yawned and stretched. “I hope that you brought extra clothing,” he said with a chuckle. 

Byleth looked down at the tattered rags still clinging to her arms and at her boot tops. 

“I don’t know that those can be mended.” 

She smirked as she twisted to remove her ruined tunic. “Do You think Margaret would allow me to do otherwise?” 

“I supposed not. I can’t say that I am sorry for the trouble.” 

“I don’t think I will have any trouble sleeping tonight.” She tossed her tunic and undergarments into a heap on the floor then turned her attention to her boot laces. 

Sitting up behind her, she felt him gently brush tendrils of hair from her shoulders and brush his lips across her skin. “That is if I allow you to sleep.” 

She shivered and smiled to herself. If anything were to keep her awake, at least this would be a welcome distraction. Well worth the exhaustion she would face tomorrow.


	7. Prelude to Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply to this chapter
> 
> Tags that apply: Locked-In Syndrome, Body/Sense Horror, Battlefield Violence, Mild Gore  
> TW: Paralysis, Claustrophobia

She was enveloped in comfort. Like a blanket on a wintry night this warmth pressed snuggly all around her and she could not remember a time when she felt more peaceful and content. Byleth lay flat on her back, every muscle in her body soft and relaxed, pliable to gravity's soothing touch that drew her weight down to settle and rest. All was darkness and she realized that her eyes were closed. She must have fallen asleep. A deep contented sound vibrated in her throat and she wanted to find Dimitri’s chest to lay on but her arms and fingers didn’t move. 

Perhaps she still wasn’t quite awake and she was reluctant to rouse herself further from this cozy nest but she really did want to curl against Dimitri’s side. Byleth opened her eyes dreamily but where she expected to see the stone ceiling of their room, she found an infinite black sky speckled with white sparkling stars. Surprised, she blinked to clear her vision and tried to crane her neck to look around but she was unable to lift her head. 

Panic sparked in her belly as she tired again to move her limbs and her head but command them as she might they would not move. Her breath quickened and she tried to call out but her lips wouldn’t open. The sound of her voice remained muffled behind her sealed lips. Her nostrils flared as the panic rushed, fully formed through her unresponsive trunk and limbs. This was different than being bound, someone could wriggle no matter the tightness of the binding. She was completely immobile. 

Swallowing the fear in her throat, she focused on her breath which seemed uninhibited, thank the goddess, despite the shake in each exhale. As long as she breathed, she would not give up. 

Her eyes were also free though her scope remained limited without the ability to turn her head. She could see the sky. It was nighttime, the dead of night based on the inky color. She was outside, she was certain of that as she could see branches of a great maples near the edge of her sightline and there was snow on the bare limbs. But if she was outside in the wintertime, in Faerghus, why didn’t she feel cold? 

She could hear her breath and the pounding of her pulse as it raced despite her best efforts to remain calm. Looking down toward her nose, straining until her vision shook, she searched for the mist of her breath but none came. Shutting her eyes and holding her breath, she searched for some other sound, any sound other than the wind and the creaking of the tree limbs as they swayed. 

The wind kicked up wisps of snow that swirled above her and battered the tree branches. As a mass of packed snow fell from the branches it’s landing muffled by what she could only assume was a snow covered ground. Then she heard a soft crunching sound that could be steps in the snow. The sound persisted. It was decidedly a footfall. Someone was coming. 

Taking care to control her exhale, she waited. Adrenaline continued to crash throughout her as flight or fight attempted to take hold but she could do nothing except watch, listen and wait. Whoever had taken her was on their way back. 

As they drew nearer and her gaze rolled skyward which, she noticed, had begun to lighten as though the sun were rising. This natural occurrence felt somehow wrong. It happened, was happening, too quickly and within seconds the black midnight sky was a pale, winter’s morning blue. The crunching footsteps stopped just beside her out of eyesight and strain as she might she couldn’t see who it was. 

They stood quietly beside her, just out of eyesight and when she could stand it no more they began... snuffling? The strangeness of this sound so close to her ears was enough to jar her out of the tension that gripped her and, as she continued to listen, the snuffling became… what was that? Chewing? Suddenly there was the sound of snapping wood and a dark cloud of birds took flight in the sky above her. 

A thunderous, stomping sound grabbed her attention and just as she looked to the side a deer bounded into her periphery. She winced and tried in vain to turn her head away, knowing in a moment she would feel the piercing hooves sink into her body. She braced herself but the pain did not come then watched in amazement as the hooves crashed across the plain of her face. The booming impact of the hooves shook her bones as they landed and then disappeared beyond what she could see. 

Before she could recover from the shock of this, another faint sound caught her attention. It began as a pleasant hum, rhythmic in nature but grew to a roaring thrum that rattled the teeth in her mouth. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for the source of the noise and vibrations as it grew louder and nearer. Soon she realized that the sound had two sources, one to her left and the other to her right and met, crashing against each other where she lay. As the source drew nearer still, the sound became more distinct, drum-like in it’s cadence. 

But no, it was not a drum. Or maybe a drum made some of the sound produced by the marching of a great number of people. Stomping in unison, these feet approached and as they did the sound became so loud that her ears ached. She wished she could cover her ears and just when the noise and vibration became unbearable, there was silence. Had they stopped?

For a long while, all that she could hear was her own ragged breath in her ears and all that she could see was the soft blue of midday above with wisps of grey clouds passing in the wind. The limbs of the trees had sprung leaves while she was distracted and now turned upward toward the sun in vibrant greens that masked the bark of the limbs beneath. Mingled with the verdant dressings were small white flowers with feather-like petals that seemed to float like the clouds in the sky when the wind caressed them. 

Despite the peaceful scene before her eyes, the air she sucked through her nostrils was electric, charged with something like fear or dreadful anticipation. 

All at once, breaking the spring’s tranquility, the shout of countless voices boomed into the air and the movement of feet once again rumbled against the ground. But where the sound before had been organized and rhythmic, this was chaotic and hurried. The twang of plucked bowstrings loosing arrows heralded countless shafts that rose into her field of vision. She recognized the sound of a charge to the battlefield and the fear of being caught in the middle of clashing forces paralyzed as she was rushed through her veins.

She winced and reflexively tried to turn her head away as shouting soldiers with weapons raised met above and on top of her. Just as the deer before, the soles of boots dug into the earth and bodies were pushed and pulled but she remained unscathed below. Metal clanged as swords of spears clashed against opposing weapons or shields and then the arrows fell. 

Pained screams rose to prominence among the din and as she observed someone knelt above her to take cover beneath his shield. She could see his face, red and sweating, nostrils flared with his breath. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, shadowed beneath his shield as he was but they were wide and wild. Arrows pinged as they struck the metal or thudded dully into the ground beside them. 

Another soldier shouted as he ran at them and the man above her looked up just in time to bolt upright with his shield at the ready. She saw the flash of a blade in the sun and sparks flew when it hit the soldier's shield. She followed the soles of their feet until she could see them no longer. 

Then the second volley of arrows came, rising to meet another wave of advancing soldiers. Screams pitched again as the arrows fell and her body tensed, motionless as steel tipped shafts whistled and fell unobstructed at her resting place. Fruitless commands to twist her neck and shield her face left her gasping when an arrowhead hit the air above her. The metal tip topped just inches above her eye. She could not look away, no matter how desperately she wanted to. 

Among the roaring and shrieking, one voice rang out, reaching her with startling clarity. A man’s voice or perhaps an older boy, crying out in pain. It cleaved into her ears as surely as if the arrow had pierced her eye. 

Byleth had heard injured men howling before. She‘d been the one responsible for eliciting such a sound from her enemies and, in the past, the Ashen Demon was deaf to begging or pleading. She killed without mercy or regard for the circumstances. So why did this one voice cut her so deeply?

The vibrations and pounding footfalls remained ever present but when this boy fell, his knees having likely given out, she felt the weight of his body even without seeing him. Her stomach lurched with a peculiar, intense longing to protect him but she was unable to do anything but witness. 

She rolled her eyes toward him, straining to extend her sight lines further. Soon, the labored breath drew nearer and a hand, caked with mud and blood appeared across her face and fell, the fingers shaking as they fisted and clung to the air inches above her face. He was crawling, dragging himself forward. 

Careless of the arrows that had previously fallen, he dragged himself further one excruciating pull at a time. Finally, she could see his face and her eyes softened, her vision blurring with the furver of her stare. This boy was hardly old enough to shave. His face, still full and soft from too few days alive, was so dirty that she could not determine his origins. Short hair, matted with dirt and blood clotted and clung to a brutal gash across the plain of his face. 

Exhausted from the effort of hauling himself, he collapsed above her and she willed herself to speak, to move, to do something. The piteous sounds he made as tears streamed from his eyes stirred a distant memory where, on the heels of conflict, there had been so many lost and bewildered children searching for someone familiar only to find the hardened faces of strangers and soldiers about. Her stomach twisted as he whimpered for his mother and squeezed his eyes shut as though hoping he could disappear or remain unseen. 

“Be still,” she thought desperately. “They will think you are dead.”

As she watched the boy cower and tremble above her, another figure approached from behind him. Her blood congealed in her veins when she caught sight of him over the boy’s shoulder leveling a spear to throwing position. 

“Please. Goddess please, let me…” she thought even as the weapon shot through the air to strike the lump of a boy where he lay. His body jolted and his eyes, they were blue or grey or some combination of the two, widened in shock and confusion. 

He sat up just enough to clutch at his chest but the soldier fell upon him in an instant. With a brutal shove, he drove the spear further into the boy’s body which tremored and jerked as the weapon mercilessly tore through tissue and bone. 

The spear tip burst through his chest and blood poured from his mouth and injury alike. She wanted to scream and howl and rage at the scene playing above her. Anger erupted within her, thawing her blood to storm and roil in her motionless limbs.

The boy’s eyes, wide and fearful began to cloud and whatever it was he saw was far away from this reeking field and charnel ground. With careless jerk, the soldier pushed the boy’s body off of his spear and charged on with a blood thirsty shout, not sparing a lingering thought to the life he’d taken. 

Unable to look away, Byeth watched with mounting fury and hopelessness as the life ebbed from his eyes. Other soldiers in her periphery fell, shrieking and bellowing, clad in various colors and signets but, heaped together there was no difference between them. They were all dead. The leaves were falling from the great trees, red and brown to settle atop the growing pile of corpses and the sun was setting the sky ablaze as it too fell. 

Through all of this, she remained fixed on the boy. 

His blood, thick and black oozed from the hole in his chest to pool beneath him and join with the blood spit from his mouth. The flows ran together, joining and growing and doubling in size until all she could no longer see beyond. 

Byleth was not afraid of blood nor the gore of battle but, when it became evident that the blood had begun to soak the barrier between her the boy and that it was beginning to descend toward her, terror began to clutch and claw at her brain. It wasn’t just blood. It was his blood. The blood of someone she’d born silent witness to and for the briefest of moments loved. She was certain she had loved the boy even if she could not say why. The agony of his demise and the scent of his blood was enough to drive her mad. 

Closer and closer, she could feel the heat from it as it seeped toward her. Wild desperate eyes popped open to dart this way and that but all around her there were rivulets joining and converging until all was red and disgustingly humid. She tasted metal in her mouth and every breath she gasped through her nostrils wreaked of iron. 

Panic gripped her as the boy’s blood beaded, collecting into a heavy drop that dangled a breath away from her face. Her mind screamed and fractured as it fell, sticky and warm as it dribbled down the peak of her nose. 

Every muscle spasmed and flexed as she struggled to move but the blood of the battle field continued in an endless river of butchery. All was red and black and hot, matting her lashes to her cheeks, sleeping into the cracks of her lips, filling her nose. 

Hopelessness closed around her, crushing the breath out of her. There was no escape. There was no escape for her, for the boy or anyone.


	8. Other Voices

She sprang upright, her muscles at long last obeying her commands to move and she nearly threw herself across the bed. The dream still clung to her and she could feel the boy’s blood, sticky and hot on her face and skin. Her shift, damp with sweat, felt too much like the blood that had coated her body. A pitiful whimpering sound dribbled from her mouth as she clawed at her sweat drenched face and the length of her arms, trying in a frantic attempt to clean it away. 

Gradually the nightmare lost it’s hold on her and Byleth realized that she was still in the bed chamber at Castle Gautier and Dimitri slept peacefully beside her. His bare chest rose and fell with deep slumbering breath and she wondered how he’d managed to stay asleep through her flailing. Regardless, she hesitated to wake him for comfort. He’d want her to tell him about her dream and the details were still too painful to dwell on. 

Her gaze lingered on his face as her breathing began to even out. And soon, she could tell herself that it had been a dream and believe that as truth. He looked so warm and her skin was beginning to chill from the sweat in the cold chamber air that she’d almost decided to attempt to sleep again when something caught her eye near the door. 

There was a white light where there shouldn’t be any and, as she turned to look more closely, she found the door ajar. The light was coming from the hallway beyond, shining too bright and steady to be a torch or candle. She could find no evidence that someone had been in their room but she watched the crack in the door with fixed concentration for a movement or shadow. 

Without pulling her eyes from the door, she groped behind her to catch Dimitri’s arm. Her fingertips brushed his skin and then, with the next reach, her palm clapped down on the flesh of his arm. When he did not stir she slapped harder then took hold of his arm to shake him awake. 

“Dimitri,” she hissed. “Wake up!” 

When he didn’t, she pulled her eyes away from the door to find him blissfully asleep.

“Dimitri?” 

She gave another sharp shake at his shoulder but nothing more than a shift in the steady rhythm of his breath. With a darting glance to the door, she turned to face him more fully. Was he truly sleeping too deeply to rouse? Her father had been like that sometimes but she also wondered whether or not she was actually awake. 

The light beyond the door began to pulsate, growing bright enough to cast it’s light on the far wall before dimming. No sooner had she turned back to examine the door than she heard the music. 

Her blood ran cold as the falling notes she’d heard from the void came soft but clear from beyond the door. As she watched, the light shifted away from the open door as it pulsed again. Fresh sweat began to bead on her brow as her body attempted to recoil at the memory of the darkness but she had no time to delay, it was getting away. 

Scrambling out of bed she bolted to the door, neglecting shoes or even a robe in her haste. The night air bit at her bare arms and legs but she hardly noticed. Without giving herself to consider what she might find on the other side of the door, she threw it open and darted into the corridor. 

It was empty. Lit by dim torchlight, it was just as she’d remembered it from earlier that evening. The light was gone and the music with it. She was still uneasy and the presence of unseen eyes remained. It made her skin crawl. 

Stepping further from her room, Byleth realized that there should be a guard at their door. At least one member of the company they’d brought should have been posted if not two but there was no sign of them or anyone for that matter. A castle this size should have activity of some sort even in the dead of night. 

Her gaze shifted, looking further down the passage and there, at the far end past the arched landing and stairs beyond. The white light continued to throb just around the curve of the stairs and the music began to play again. Sparing one last glance to her husband’s sleeping form in bed, Byleth took off at a run. Her feet slapped loudly on the stone floor, she’d chosen speed over stealth and hoped to over take it before it could move again. 

Skidding to a stop around the curved landing, she found that it had moved. Once again, the source of the light was just out of sight further down the descending flight of stairs. Curiously, she didn't see it move and there was no shadow from whoever was casting the spell or held the lantern. In fact, she wasn’t sure if there was a source. Tucking that disquieting thought aside, Byleth decided that stealth might be the better tactic after all and began her creeping pursuit. 

Even as she closed in on it, the light continued to shift just out of direct sight. Strangely enough the music and the pulse of the light remained unchanged, regardless of how far away or how close she seemed to be. Before she knew it, she’d lost count of the twists and turns and how many times she’d alighted a flight of steps.

The castle remained eerily quiet and in that silence the repeated melody played soft and clear. Byleth swore that she’d heard it before, long before she’d heard it in the void. Each time the memory rose in her mind, just when she could almost grasp it, it slipped away or stuck fast on the periphery of her mind. 

She was so preoccupied with the haunting song, that she did not notice the stone growing colder beneath her bare feet nor the presence of torches mounted on the wall lessen. Bound and determined, goddess only knew why, Byleth followed along under the premise that she was in pursuit rather than being led into the depths of the castle. 

Suddenly, she was jarred out of her hunt when her foot splashed into a shallow puddle on the floor. The shock of the frigid water between her toes brought her crashing into her surroundings with startling clarity. She’d begun in a bare but decently lit corridor but now found herself at the bottom of a long flight of stone stairs. The light she’d been pursuing now throbbed from behind a door at the end of this pitch black hallway. She doubted that light could reach this place even in the middle of the day.

There was not a single torch or candle along the walls and the strange light cast pale, bleak slivers on the walls and ceiling. With each cycle, the pinnacle of light revealed the sturdy metal doors that ran long the passage and the damp stone walls. It did not appear to have another exit. From what she could surmise, the stairs were the only way in or out of this place. 

Pressure in her chest reminded her not to hold her breath and she realized she’d been standing with one foot on the final stair and the other in the icy puddle. She wondered, as she blinked into the darkness, if it was prudent to follow this strange light. But then again, perhaps she was dreaming again.

Byleth gave herself a shake. She’d faced more terrifying things than an ominous dark hallway. In fact, she couldn’t quite name what she was afraid of. With a deep breath, she steeled herself to continue. After all, she’d come too far to turn back now. 

Each door she approached felt like it housed some unnamed horror waiting to spring out at her. As she passed them, she forced herself not to dash ahead. How ridiculous to imagine that the doors would swing open as she passed? She managed this artificial courage by staying focused on the door framed in light with each throb of the light and the lure of the song. 

Just as the door was in arms reach he music abruptly stopped. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears and the drip, drip, dripping of water somewhere within. The quiet pressed in around her, expanding and contracting with her breath. Even without the music, the light continued to pulse, it’s shine pushing back the darkness near the frame and the narrow slotted window in the door.

Once again, she bolstered her courage against a fear unseen and she closed the distance remaining between herself and the door. Now that she stood so close, she found it was thick reinforced metal. The hinges were discolored perhaps from neglect or from lack of motion. Byleth realized that she must be in the lower levels of the castle, possibly below ground which explained the damp stones and dank smelling air. 

The slot was set high in the door and she had to raise up onto her toes to peer through. The light inside was so bright that it burned her eyes. Jerking back with a hiss, No matter how she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes but spots continued to mar her vision. 

After a moment, she found that the traces of light had cleared and that the frame of the door was still illuminated. She raised her hand to take hold of the handle but stopped. What if this wasn’t a dream? What if she were actually in the depths of Castle Gautier? Gazing up at the door, it dawned on her that she must be in the jail or dungeon of the castle which made her all the more uneasy. 

If this was not a dream, the door would be locked and that would be the end of that. But if this was a dream…

Hesitating, she extended her hand toward the handle all the while her gaze darting nervously up to the little window as though she expected a specter or a face might suddenly jump into view. As her fingertips brushed the cold metal handle, the door sprang open, lurching with a dull creak. As it did, the light within expired, leaving her alone in the inky blackness of the hallway. 

The sound of her nervous swallow was deafening in her ears and her fingers twitched as she worked furiously to muster the courage to proceed. Finally, in a rush lest she lose her nerve, Byleth took hold of the handle and wrenched the heavy door fully open.

The straw covered floor beyond housed an abandoned table and a scattering of low stools, presumably for the guards who were nowhere to be seen. A few torches burned lowly in sconces but compared to the dark in the corridor behind her, the chamber was positively cheerful. It was disturbingly mundane. 

For what felt like an eternity, Byleth lingered in the doorway, sweeping her gaze across the room before treading cautiously inside. A drip from somewhere echoed as it hit the floor. It sounded like condensation falling from stone spires in the depth of a cave which conjured images of beasts or monsters lurking in its depths. 

The silence charged the air in wake of the music. It was so absolute that it buzzed in her ears. What was she supposed to do here? Why had she been brought here? There was nothing in the light to answer these questions. As she feared, the answers she sought were likely down the shadowy corridor that ran the length of the rest of the room between rows of cells. 

Past the first cell, the dark condensed until the torchlight couldn’t penetrate it. Byleth cursed as she squinted, trying to see further than the first empty cages but it was no surprise when she could not. With her first step forward, her foot fell into a moist part of the floor where the straw hadn't quite absorbed all the moisture collecting on the stone floor. For the second time, she hissed and shook her foot but the slimy feeling between her toes persisted. Why hadn’t she thought to put on shoes? 

Nearing the thin walkway between the rows of cells, the rattle of a chain made her stomach leap into her throat. She froze, eyes darting this way and that for whatever had made the sound. Again her imagination sprang to life, filling the inky darkness with terrifying things living within the cages. A demonic beast? Some pale creature not accustomed to the daylight with translucent skin and sightless eyes? Perhaps nothing at all was watching her from the darkness, just as it had within the abyss. 

Before she’d instructed it to do so, her arm jutted out to take hold of the torch at the mouth of the cell block. The light shook in her hand as she held it aloft. When nothing crept up through the shadows toward her, she shook her head and her breath rushed out of her. Jumping at shadows now. How shameful. But, there was no shame in bringing a source of light where there were none to begin with. 

The pool of light about her feet seemed to quiver against the darkness as she stepped off the straw coated floor onto the icy stone walkway, offering little comfort as she crept along. She was inexplicably afraid that the darkness would push in against her torch, sealing the light until it was suffocated and doused beneath its weight. Focusing on the circle instead of the blood pounding in her ears, she almost missed the flash of movement from within one of the cells. Had the chains not rattled, she would have passed it entirely. 

Her throat was dry. Too dry for her to call out and so she stepped closer, holding the torch up. She caught a bare foot on the stone on the edge of the torchlight but as it brightened and moved closer, the owner jerked it back as though burnt. The whimper that accompanied the movement was almost too soft to hear. 

She squinted into the shadows, leaning closer to the bars than she wanted to. There, chained to the wall by wrists aloft was a dark haired woman. She had pushed back against the wall as though she wanted to disappear through it. Her eyes squeezed shut and she turned her head to push her cheek against the wall. Byleth’s lips parted, her jaw slack as the light reflected off the metal circling the woman’s neck. 

Anger hot enough to push aside the fear in her stomach ignited as she realized this was one of the soldiers being held. A sister who had survived like she was shackled about the wrists and neck to the back wall of a desolate cell. Without thinking, she took hold of the door. Upon finding it locked, she pulled, jerking and banging, trying to force it open. 

“No. Please.” The prisoner moaned piteously and pushed herself as flat as she could against the wall, twisting painfully at the spots where her wrists were held. Her voice was as dry the wind in dead leaves as it scratched across Byleth’s ears.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Byleth murmured as gently as she could then tried the door again. 

“YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!” 

The bellow hit her from behind with such force that she nearly stumbled against the bars. She spun around, wielding the torch like a cudgel but whoever had shouted was not to be seen. 

“Who…” she started. A lick to her lips found them dry and it was with concentrated effort that she collected her voice to command. “Who’s there?” 

The laugher that drifted from the cell in front of her made her skin crawl. Behind her, the woman moaned wordlessly and began to cry. Her soft sobs mingled with the laugh that had grown to a maddening cackle and Byleth winced. Her stomach pitched and she thought she might be sick. 

The laughter halted abruptly. “You’re not right,” hissed the masculine voice from the depths of the cell across the walkway. 

“What do you mean?” Byleth ventured closer. Cautiously, she raised the torch to prevent another outburst or carelessly hurting the prisoner with it. The light inched along the stone floor and through the bars to the other side. 

Where the woman had shrunk away from the light, the occupant of this cell railed against it. As the weak bubble of light caught his feet he shouted and his chains rattled with such ferocity that they might have broken or choked him. 

“TAKE IT AWAY TAKE IT AWAY TAKE IT AWAY!” 

His voice broke with the force and volume of his baying demand but he did not stop. Her light revealed a man in his middle years shackled in the same fashion as the woman. His head had been shaved but sections of scalp bore plain evidence of violently torn hair. Dark eyes bulged as he struggled against the shackle at his neck and spittle flew from his mouth like a rabid dog. 

Byleth arched the torch back away from the cell as quickly as she could and as the light left it’s confines, the man calmed. His breath was ragged and it was no wonder considering how he’d been tugging against his restraints.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped.   
“You shouldn’t be here,” faintly repeated the woman behind her. 

The barrage of intense sound in front of her had distracted her entirely from the ghostlike woman behind her. Byleth jumped like a child at the sound of her voice. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”  
“You shouldn’t be here.” 

They repeated over and over again, their voices bouncing off the walls, filling the space until Byleth couldn’t tell which one had spoken first. Something inside of her told her to run as panic raced through her limbs but her feet would not move. Instead she held her torch tightly and attempted to top them with a shouted “Who are you!?”

All was startlingly quiet. The silence left Byleth shaking where she stood and the voices of the prisoners still rang in her ears. The torch light quivered with her breath and she realized her arm was trembling. 

“Who are you?!” she repeated, hoping that she sounded more authoritative than she felt. 

“Answer me!” her shout was hollow. Had it even left the ring of light from her torch?

“That’s up to you.” 

This voice was smooth as silk, neither masculine or feminine, disturbing in it’s control. Byleth spun around searching for the speaker. She’d felt someone directly behind her but when she shone the light in that direction she found nothing. The two other prisoners had grown eerily silent at the third voice. 

“Where are you?” Byleth asked softly.

Even without an answer, her attention was drawn to the cell along the back wall. Instead of bars, it was plated with thick metal and there was no viewing window. Shuffling her feet along the cold stone floor, Byleth inched her way closer to the door even though her core screamed at her not to advance. 

“I am here.” 

How did the voice sound so clear when sealed behind such a thick door? It was then that Byelth realized that she was hearing the voice inside of her head. Her stomach dropped and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. That is how the sound was not muffled from behind the door.

“How are you doing this?” she whispered. 

“You know.” 

She shook her head as a memory just on the periphery of her mind tried to shift into focus. She could grasp the answer if only she could focus. As she concentrated her head began to ache at the temples and, the harder she thought, the pain began to spread across her scalp, searing into her skin. The memory of the pain from the night before drove whatever she’d been struggling to remember away and she relented.

“Are you the soldiers that fell into the abyss?” she asked as the pain subsided.

“Fell?” the voice sounded amused.   
“Fell. Fell! FELL!!” The two behind her picked up the words in a violent wail that shook her to her bones. 

“There was no falling.”

The voice was disturbing and disorienting, cooing within her mind with the shrieks pitching higher and higher pummeling her ears without. Her knees were near buckling and she wished desperately that they would stop. 

Suddenly, they did. 

“They will be quiet now.” 

A lump had formed in her throat and with effort she swallowed and took another few steps closer to the door. “You’re the one who saw it first? Anton’s man.” 

The voice hummed in her head, mulling over her question or their response or both. “I am the beginning.” 

“The beginning of what?” 

“All of this. But not that.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You do.” 

Again that thought at the edge of her mind pricked her. It gnawed as though begging to be scratched but she dare not lose her focus despite the prisoners being chained. She had an irrational fear of something leaping out from the shadows unseen and deadly. 

“Come and see me. Let me take a look at you.” 

Beneath the smooth quality of the voice, there was a chill or a lack of, something tangible. She could not imagine that the person who belonged to this voice had ever seen the sun or laughed with friends and family. This voice was dead, or rather without life. But how could it be both dead and speaking to her? That couldn’t be right. 

“I don’t have the key,” Byleth ventured, hoping that the excuse would satisfy. 

Much as she knew it would, deep down in the pit of her stomach, the door unlatched silently. There should have been some sound, even a well greased door would screech as the latch was drawn back. It opened just enough for her to slip her fingers through. The small crack seemed to leak darkness through it, despite the shadow already in the room, the quality of this inky blackness reminded her of the abyss or of the dark dimension and again, her mind urged her to flee. 

Her torch quivered again and, looking to the floor, she watched in growing horror as the dark flowed forward, pushing back the ring of light as though it were the tide on the beach. A quick step back saved her for only a moment, the torch trembled as it was assailed from behind. Inky shadows seeped down the walkway and through the bars of the cells. She could neither run nor advance.

The impenetrable darkness winked out her pool of light and the burning embers in her torch doused without a hiss. One moment they were burning and the next, they were not. Her stomach twisted and her breath spilled out of her, rising in a thin mist to pass her eyes. 

“You are afraid.” 

The voice hummed again. The sound vibrated like bees between her ears and a shake of her head did nothing but stir them. Anger surged again to flashed across her mind at the invasion. “Get out of my head!”

But the humming remained and soon began to shift into a melody. One that she remembered and had been pursuing since that afternoon. Like lightning she knew the secret was in that cell. She knew it as certainly as she had known in the abyss.

Despite her fear, she ventured forward. Even without a flame to top it, the torch could be used to hit or defend against whatever lurked in the cell. If it was a human. The thought came to her as a nightmare does right after you’ve decided you’re dreaming. Nothing to do for it now. 

The iron of the door burned her fingers. It was so cold. Afraid that her skin would freeze to the metal surface she flung the door open. She did not even hear it collide with the stone wall. The darkness within was just as solid as she had feared but now, she could hear the person within breathing. The breath was heavy and raspy, at odds with the beautiful voice she’d heard in her mind. Chains rattled just as they had with the others. But unlike the others, she had no light with which to see. 

Two pinpoints of faintly glowing light throbbed in the pitch, so small that she might have missed them, and they were focused on her. She knew they were eyes. Reminiscent of the ghouls in stories that lurked in swamps or caves, she imagined a thin, starved creature waiting to catch hold of her should she get too close. 

But unlike eyes, these lights did not blink. They fixed on her and she felt utterly exposed and helpless. 

“Who are you?” she asked again. Her voice light under the weight of her fear, seemed to carry as far as her nose before it hit the thickness wall darkness and stopped.

“I told you,” said the voice in her head. 

“I don’t mean you,” Byleth hoped her voice was not shaking as badly as her hands. “Who is in the cell? Who am I looking at?” 

“Something made and unmade.”

The specks of light shifted, swaying from side to side as they talked about it. 

“It once thought it was something. But now it is not. It knows and cannot unknow it. It is sad.” 

The person or thing in the blackness let out a low, solemn sound and it pierced her like a dagger. The chains rattled and it’s wail was so weak, Byleth wondered if it was able to make more noise than that.

“Don’t feel sad for it. This is it’s nature. It’s best that it knows now.” 

This voice, this thing in her mind, thought it knew so much. To dismiss this creature that might have been a human once as an “it” and describe it with such callousness was unforgivable. She was sick of games and sick of gods and creatures and beings who thought they knew everything.The anger within her built as these thoughts tumbled one after another through her brain until she was certain that she would explode. 

“Show yourself!” She shouted, careless of the danger that pricked her skin. “You think you know so much, show yourself!” 

The voice was silent. Gritting her teeth against the urge to bellow again, she looked this way and that for some sign that her challenge had been answered. Tangible silence was all that met her and not even the dripping of water could be heard above the breathing from the cell and her own. 

All at once, a bang like a cannon sounded at the front of the prison making her jump and spin quickly around just in time to see the dust settle from the massive door that led to the outer hallway. Eyes wide and stance wide, she turned back to face the darkness in the cell.

A strangled sound ripped from her throat finding the ghostly, pale eyes inches from her face. Byleth dropped the torch in her surprise and stumbled back before she could collect herself. 

“You are ready to see,” the voice in her mind said. The sound echoed back and forth in her mind, bouncing and redoubling on itself until she couldn’t see straight for the sounds inside of her skull.   
The eyes before her swayed, perhaps the body they belonged to was moving? They seemed somehow detached from any human body. Unable to focus she staggered back again, trying to distance herself from it but the darkness stiffened to wrap around her in icy unseen fingers. The hands she felt on her were countless and she failed, struggling as they closed tightly around her.

Shouting with her effort, her arm broke free and swung until her fist connected with something solid. It was the man with the shaved head. His eyes were sunken in and the pupils glowed a pale sickly green just like the eyes in the dark cell. He was undisturbed by the strike of her hand and her stomach plummeted inside of her as the futility of her struggle became clear. 

Still she kicked and swung her arms but there was nothing to land on as the countess hands she could not see squeezed around her arms and legs. Banging, metallic and harsh, filled the air as doors and chains slammed and rattled. The cacophony was too much to bear. She felt like she was being torn apart from inside and out as she struggled to form a cohesive thought.

The fingers that had closed on her limbs began to pull, clutching at her nightgown as well as her limbs as they did so. Hands flattened to her back, pushing her forward and it was with a primal desperate effort she dug her bare heels into the floor. The stone scratched and tore at the skin on her soles but she did not relent. 

Wild, frightened eyes snapped forward and she realized with mounting terror that she was being drawn into the darkness of the cell ahead of her. The eyes were there, right on the threshold, gazing at her with a new fire that had not been there before. They glowed an unnatural green. They were hungry and they were waiting.

“No!” she howled, locking her knees and twisting as best she could to stop the advance. Delay it as she might, her forward progress continued. “No!” 

As if her defiance provoked them, the invisible hands shifted her weight and her feet left the ground effortlessly. The world around her tilted as she was lifted helplessly onto her back. The hands and fingers dug into her legs and arms, restraining her to stillness, but her unsupported head lolled back to gaze back at the inverted hallway and the torchlight just beyond in the straw covered entry. 

“Help me!” she shouted as her desperation peaked. They were bearing her onward and she could do nothing to stop it. “Someone, goddess, help me!” 

With an effort, she hoisted her head upright and hysteria gripped her as the gaping door and the darkness within drew ever closer. The banging and rattling of chains hadn’t stopped and she was certain that her cries for help would never leave this place.

“Please. Please don’t do this!” she implored, looking to the face of the woman in the first cell. But her plea fell on deaf ears as the woman’s pale, glowing eyes remained fixed on the darkness beyond the door. 

She could feel the bite from the cold leaking from the open door on her skin and the air around her began to stir. The gaping door to the cell, gluttonous and insatiable sucked at the air, drawing straw and dirt from the ground and whipping her hair around her face and roaring as it grew. 

A deathly cold began to seep through the soles of her feet as they were carried past the threshold of the door. It penetrated her bones, burning like icy water. She screamed in fear and pain, throwing her head back to look with waning hope to the only light she could find.

“Don’t be afraid.” The voice cooed but she could not be soothed. “This will be over soon.”

The cutting chill spread to her calves and her knees. Her feet were completely numb from the icy bite and she thought that her bones would snap with the slightest pressure. Water collected in the corners of her eyes as the pain spiked beyond any she’d felt before. In mere moments she would be on the other side of oblivion. 

But as her hips crossed into the frigid darkness, another sensation began to tingle around her. Unable to focus on the sensation beyond the chattering of her teeth, she still found it to be familiar. The feel of electricity charged the air around her, crackling and sparking to life. The bright specks were so brilliant in contrast to the darkness that it stunk her eyes. She closed them tightly but the light continued to explode on the other side of her eyelids. 

Then, the magic sealed around her tight as a second skin. It burned against the numbness in her legs and snapped like someone had drawn back a bowstring and released it. She was on the ground. There were still hands on her and she screamed, kicking and swinging with her eyes still shut. 

“Your majesty, you must open your eyes!” 

The air still whipped around her but the hands on her were warm. She opened her eyes, wincing at the light from the torches and found herself looking up into the gray face of Father Hobbs. The wind had increased, drawing what remained of this thinning hair and his clerical robes away from his frame. A nun dressed in white kneeled beside them, her hand clasped her hat to protect it from being drawn into the cell block. 

“Father!” She had to shout to be heard above the wailing of the wind and the banging of the cell doors. “We must leave!” 

He nodded and shoved his arms unceremoniously beneath Byleth’s armpits. “Can you move, Majesty?”

She tested her legs but the freezing cold remained in her marrow. “I can’t!”

“Father! They are coming!”

She followed the nun’s shouts and an involuntary scream ripped from her throat as three prisoners approached the edge of the darkness. Their eyes glowed tracing in the shadows with their movements and their skin was unearthly pale. They covered ground quickly, somehow moving at a walk but nearing as though they were running. 

“Help me!”Hobbs shouted. 

The pair grabbed hold of Byleth awkwardly by the arm, sleeve and under the armpits to drag her to the door where another nun in white stood, bracing the heavy door open with her body. Her hat was long gone and her red hair had torn from her braids to fly around her head. She strained, pushing her back against the thick metal door. 

As the pair dragged her with agonizing slowness toward the door, the wind pulled harder, lifting her feet off the ground. The shouts of the priest and nuns were lost in the maelstrom. 

Byleth watched in horror as the wall mounted torches winked out and the specters who had been held at bay by the light gained on them. Hands, pale and translucent extended toward her. She was within arms reach. The nails of one scratched along her calf. Then her heels felt the hard, wet stone of the outer passage and the door slammed shut behind her. 

The corridor was all darkness and the father dropped her to crumple on the floor. He and the sisters collapsed, breathing heavily and panting. The sister who had been supporting the door clutched at her chest and the prayer falling from her lips sounded more like an invocation 

The din that had filled the prison seemed to have stopped the moment the door had banged shut. This left her questioning if she had imagined the whole thing. If Father Hobbs hadn’t been doubled over next to her struggling to catch his breath, she might have believed it was. 

“How did you find me?” she asked when her voice had steadied. 

“We came to check on the soldiers.” The nun’s voice was shaking just as badly as her clinging hands. “It took all three of us to open the door.”

“Father Hobbs used Rescue to pull you back,” said the other. 

“Ah,” said Byleth hollowly. “That is what I felt.” 

Her limbs felt frozen through. If she could have laid still for hours it might not have been enough to regain her strength. She could still feel the fingers, long and boney but grasping with an unnatural strength. Blood still pounded through her veins, throbbing in her head in the absence of sound and the voice. 

“Sister,” the Father’s voice was thick as he worked to recover his breath. “Go and rouse the King and Lord Gautier. They must know what has happened.” 

The woman nodded and ran as quickly as if she were being pursued and her footfalls gradually faded away leaving them alone in the darkness. The silence between them was charged with the unasked questions Father Hobbs was too afraid or too exhausted to ask. 

Finally Byleth spoke. “Father. What did you see when you came in?” 

Pretending not to hear, he shifted to kneel next to her having spent so much time doubled over with his knees gripped in his hands. “Can you stand, your majesty?” 

Acknowledgement passed between the two of them. He would not pry and she would not divulge anything yet. She should not mistake his questions and his rescue for care. It was, as he said earlier that evening, his duty as a servant of Serios and the goddess. 

“Yes.” 

He offered her a hand which she did not take. Rather, she forced herself to roll to her side and push up. The dampness of the floor was a welcome change to the stinging cold she’d felt in the prison at the hands of the specters. With much effort, she lurched to her feet. The wall was a welcome support and the dark masked her shaky knees.

“Allow me to…” he began with no warmth in his voice. This time she interrupted him. 

“Lead me back to my chambers.” 

She could not see the grimace spread across his face in the darkness but she heard it in his voice. She could just make out his hands move to his chest and a bend at the waist. 

“Right away, your majesty.”


	9. A Necessary Shift

The walk back up the stairs and through the winding corridors was long, quiet and cold. The sister kept her hands at her chest, fingers interlaced while her lips moved in some vague prayer. Every once in a while, she would glance to Byleth out of the corner of her eye but when their eyes met, she’d look away as if Byleth would leap at her. It galled her but was hardly a distraction from the biting cold in her bones and the chill seeping through her damp shift. Her teeth were chattering when they finally reached the semi-lit corridors above the dungeons. 

The castle had seemed deserted a short while ago but now, it blazed with life either because she’d been in the dim darkness for so long or the alarm had awoken it. At the first person they met, the sister requested their cloak for the queen. The guard made a show of diverting his eyes to preserve the queen’s modesty. Such a show in fact that he missed the sour look on her face at having witnessed the display at all. The cloak stunk and was rough on her skin but anything was better than traipsing back in nothing but her shift. 

More soldiers and servants rushed past them than she’d seen the entire time of her stay at Castle Gautier. It hummed with activity suited to midday and not the middle of the night. Seems that the queen consort being rescued in the dungeons was more of a to-do than she’d thought. Most paused to bob their heads or make short bows to her before rushing past on some errand or other. The attention was beginning to color her cheeks and she held the cloak tighter at her neck. 

She heard him before she saw him. The sound of Dimitri’s voice resonated down the hallway and his anger was unmistakable. Without sparing a glance to the sister, Byleth took off at a run, leaving the cloak where it fell behind her. He must have been so frightened to wake up without her beside him. That and angry to think of how she’d disappeared. What a fool to think she’d been dreaming and follow that cursed light like a fish to a lure. Goddess knew what he would do if he thought she’d been taken. 

Rounding the corner, she found him standing just outside their chamber door, stripped to the waist and dangling a soldier at least a foot from the ground by the arm holes of his breastplate. The man, who’d likely been the one to wake him, looked terrified and with good reason. Dimitri’s lips were peeled back, bearing his teeth like an animal. 

“Tell me where she is!” His voice, like his temper, roared and he shook the full grown man in armor like a rag-doll. 

“Dimitri!” 

He stilled at the sound of her voice. When their eyes met he dropped the soldier who scrambled back to catch his balance against the wall. 

“Byleth!” 

His arms were around her, crushing her against his bare chest before she realized he’d covered the distance between them. Her own arms circled his waist and she too was squeezing as tightly as she could. His skin was warm against her cheek. 

“Where were you?” he was asking. “I fell asleep and then they pounded on the door. You’re shaking.” He stepped back just enough to look down at her and next, his hands closed on her bare arms, working to rub the chill away. “Your skin is like ice. They said you were in the dungeon.” 

This would be one of the only times in her recollection that she’d been the one to do something reckless and foolish. She nodded wondering if he were going to chide her and working to find her voice. The comfort of a torch lit hallway and the warmth of his arms began to chip away at her steely resolve and she could feel the fright of it all beginning to shake her in place of the cold. 

He waited a moment or two for her to speak and when she did not, he folded his arms around her more gently this time and she melted against him. “Sister,” he addressed her escort over her head. “Have warm water and soap brought to the room. And tea,” he added as an afterthought. 

The sister’s slippered feet whispered away from them without another word. 

“Come,” he said tenderly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “We can’t talk here out in the open.” 

Then she was being guided toward their room and Dimitri’s arm was warm and heavy around her shoulders. 

“Wake Gilbert, if he is not roused already,” he said to the guard who was still flat against the wall. “Call him to my rooms.”

Vaguely aware of the soldier’s retreating footsteps, Byleth nestled against him. His breath was steady and his heartbeat clear and strong. What had transpired that night felt so much like a dream that she had trouble thinking of it as anything but. Now, being so near something warm and alive, she could feel truly awake. Dimitri was solid and comforting against her cheek. He was real. He was alive.

Thankfully, he withheld his questions until he had undressed her and set her in front of the hearth wrapped in his thick, fur lined cloak. He had gently rolled the thin shift over her head with a mild hand that she wondered how he’d managed to rip the clothing from her body with such ease earlier that night. At the sound of her teeth chattering, the worried furrow between his brows deepened and he insisted that she sit as close to the fire as possible without singing her clothing. 

The fur along the top lining of the cloak smelled like Dimitri and the out of doors. More than once she buried her face in it and was nearly lulled to sleep by the crackling of the flames and his hands on her legs, stroking her calves against the feel of cold. 

The water, when it arrived, was perfectly warm. So warm in fact that it stung her legs at the first pass of the sponge. The cold in her bones was absolute and the heated water felt like it might shatter them. When she winced and jerked, Dimitri paused to look up from where he knelt in front of her. 

“I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable, beloved, but the heat will help.” 

She nodded and did her best to relax as he washed the mud from her skin, lifting her legs with astonishing care and reverence as he worked. So it went with her legs and arms. Leaning forward when prompted, she rested her forehead on his bare shoulder as he washed her back. When he was finished, all remnants of the dungeon had been washed away and her teeth had stopped clacking. 

They talked softly as he washed her, listening quietly without interruption aside from a tightening of his lips or a grimace that wrinkled his forehead and nose. When she paused or was overcome at the retelling, he would prod her gently to continue with another question. Before she knew it, she’d shared it all with him from the moment she woke up to her rescue at the hands of Father Hobbs.

Dimitri sat back on his heels, face drawn tight and eyes downcast as he thought. She shifted in the chair anxiously, not sure if he would even believe her. More than once in the telling she too thought it sounded so outlandish that it couldn’t be real. After a moment or two, he looked up at her, his expression unreadable. 

“Are you sure it was the same song you heard before?” 

She nodded. 

“Then it stands to reason that the abyss wants you.”

Her brows furrowed. That had crossed her mind but she had dismissed it as a possibility. How egotistical to think something like this had anything to do with yourself? 

“Or it doesn’t like that you escaped unscathed,” he continued. “Either way, I suspect that the darkness itself or something inside of it is alive.” He made an exasperated sound and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying in truth. But I am afraid.” The admission caught her off guard and the fear in his eyes was plain. 

A knock at the door freed them from their thoughts with a jump. “Your majesties. I have come as summoned.”

“Just a moment Gilbert.” He stood and was pulling a shirt over his head as he continued. “Regardless of my musings, it’s clear to me that we need to leave as soon as possible.” 

Byleth clutched the cloak at her neck as he pulled her gently to her feet, unwilling to leave the warmth within it. “Are you able to dress yourself and prepare to leave?” 

She nodded. The soft smile and caress of his knuckles against her cheek made her think it had not been as confident as she hoped. Then, he was shutting it behind him and she was left alone in the room. Her stomach twisted at the shadows in the corners of the room but the muffled sound of his voice through the thick door was enough to comfort her as she went about the business of dressing herself. Still, she was not able to ignore the memory of those specter-like eyes and that enveloping darkness. 

What had the voice meant when it said that she was ready to see? Ready to see what? Simply recalling what had transpired broke her out in a cold sweat. How irritating that she couldn’t even think about it without going to distraction. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she tucked those questions aside to focus on their next steps.

They would go to Fhirdiad first and then, from there, to Garreg Mach. While she wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing the archbishop, Rhea had a way of knowing things that others didn’t. Perhaps there was a spark of hope that answers would come soon.

* * *

Rumors, by nature, spread quickly. When those rumors involve royalty they can spread like a wildfire in a windstorm. By the time she and Dimitri were dressed and seated in the audience chamber, everyone was whispering about what had happened in the dungeons. 

Some said she’d been attacked by the ghosts of the Srengens killed in the expansion. It was commonly believed that they roamed the hallways at night. Some said that she had attempted to free the prisoners and they had turned on her, which was partially true.

Others claimed that she herself was mad and had been found naked in the lower recesses of the castle raving about ghosts. Rumors about the commoner turned queen had sprung up around the kingdom since the royal wedding. Many suspected that she’d used some form of sorcery to make the king fall in love with her. Byleth was blissfully unaware of these but as she accepted a porcelain cup of steaming tea from a servant in the audience chamber, she noted the calculating look leveled at her. 

The audience chamber was barren just like the rest of castle Gautier with stone walls and sparse lighting from mounted torches. At least the fireplace had been set to blazing and the room felt warm. The night had softened into the early morning and the black outside the tall windows had a more predominant hue of blue. The servant made their exit along the thin carpet that ran the length of the chamber from the door to stop before the dais where they sat. 

The sturdy chair at the center of the dais was certainly no throne but the craftsmanship and detailed carving on the high back marked it as the lord’s seat. Byleth assumed that any chair Dimitri sat in would seem regal just by his presence. With his leg propped up atop his other knee, Dimitri was the very picture of ease. One might believe that this was his audience chamber rather than that of a border lord. 

Byleth sat at his left hand on a smaller albeit comfortable chair. She’d have preferred to stand next to him but the queen consort must be seated, placed on the chair in such a way that she thought she should cross her ankles. She had dressed to ride in knitted pants and tunic, much like what she’d arrived in but to see her perched beside Dimitri sipping tea from a delicate cup, one could mistake her for a maiden. Without Margaret there to braid her hair, she let it hang loose in pale green waves to her shoulders. 

For the hundredth time, she wondered distinctively how she’d ever gotten used to this. Dimitri glanced at her and chuckled as she fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“You still don’t enjoy sitting to the side like some sort of ornament, do you? Not that I’d expect you to.” 

Color blanched on her cheeks as she raised the cup to her lips. It seemed that, for some reason, she should be accustomed to someone reading her thoughts. This must be a returning sense of familiarity, she thought idly. When she looked back up, he’d straightened in the chair and was gazing intently at her. 

Hardly the disheveled man she’d found bellowing outside of their room, he was now as composed as the man at the dinner table last night. His armor once again adorned his frame and his hair was neatly tied back behind his head. She thought that this must be what it was like to have two different husbands, or perhaps a husband and a lover?

Her blush deepened at the thought, she could feel it burning on her cheeks. He chuckled again, obviously enjoying the effect he had on her.

“You should remember that you are no ornament to me,” he said, dropping the lighthearted tease from his tone. When she met his eyes again, they were steeped in sincerity. “I need you by my side. I said as much in my letters to you.”

Her arched eyebrow indicated that she did not remember any such letters. He sighed realizing the same as she.

“I wish I knew where you’d kept them. I wonder if reading them would help to restore some of your memory.”

An unspoken apology quirked the side of her mouth.

He sighed again and shook his head. “This will be difficult but having you with me will help to ease my mind.” 

She nodded and then returned her attention to the double wooden doors that opened out into the smaller receiving room beyond. The Margrave and Sylvain would be joining them at any moment now and it was taxing not to be able to see them coming through the oversized wooden doors. They had been seated in this cavernous room long enough for her to lose track of time while the preparations for departure proceeded outside. 

From the moment he left their chamber, Gilbert had been diligently overseeing preparations and sending missives by owl to notify Fhirdiad and Garreg Mach of their imminent arrival. The other lords in all the Kingdom’s territories must be notified of the occurrence and send reports of similar incidents to both the capital and the monastery. There was no telling where the party would be when the missives began to return. 

While Gilbert saw to the preparations, Dimitri planned his next move with her in their chamber as they dressed. There were four mages within summoning distance from the castle and it had been decided that she, Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix would utilize the warp spell leaving Gilbert and the Blue Lion Knights behind.

Father Hobbs had not been seen since the incident, nor had the sisters that accompanied him so she could not estimate what Margrave Gautier knew. She was certain the father went directly to his lord when additional soldiers had arrived to guard the door. Even with her rescue at his hands, she did not trust him. It was evident that his allegiance did not lie with the king and that could pose problems if not dealt with. 

According to other reports, the abyss had not advanced and no one had been allowed close enough to fall under its spell. The door to the dungeon where the soldiers had been held could not be opened. The key to the door turned easily in the lock but the door would no budge one way or another. When the key and locksmiths could not open it, they’d tried everything from hammers to magic but the door remained shut. It was inexplicable how it had come to be sealed but considering the circumstances made her queasy. 

Despite not being at war, these felt like the preparations for battle. It felt the most like home she’d felt since this all began. A glance to the arched windows flanking the dias found the sky a lighter shade of blue. The stars had winked out at the approach of the sun. This was taking longer than she liked.

Her stomach leapt as the doors opened and Dimitri shifted with a casual aire to adjust his posture. She didn’t think she could sit any straighter than she was already. Margrave Gautier barreled into the room, hardly giving the guards time to fully open the doors. Sylvain was hot on his heels and where the Margrave’s face was beet red, his son’s was a mask of grave acceptance. 

“What is the meaning of summoning me to my own audience chamber?” Gautier bellowed still half way down the carpeted runner. 

Dimitri remained still in his seat, hands relaxed on the thick wooden arms of the chair. Somehow, he managed to look relaxed while sitting perfectly erect. She shifted again in her seat and took another sip of her tea working to hide the anger that sparked at the Margrave’s blatant disrespect.

His silence as he watched them must have stoked the old man’s anger because when he stopped before the dais his hands were shaking at his sides. Gautier planted his feet to look up defiantly at the silver-clad king. “Well?” 

Dimitri’s eyes slipped shut for a heartbeat. When he opened them again, the biting ice from the night before fixed on the old man. His gaze was unyielding and his voice soft and low. “Am I outside of my rights as the King of Faerghus to summon my lords to my presence?” 

“Of course not, your majesty,” Sylvain interjected when his father’s tongue failed to work. Casting a quick glance to his father that said he should follow suit, he bowed respectfully. 

Swallowing whatever he’d planned to say, Gautier bent at the waist for a brisk bow. Dimitri did not offer a nod or thank them for attending him as he might on any other day. He remained stone faced on the dais, observing them with a detached coldness that made her uneasy. 

“You may rise.” His rich voice filled the hall, easily reaching the men at the door. “Leave us and see that we are not disturbed.” 

The guards shut the doors with a resounding bang that echoed off the bare walls as Gautier and his son straightened. Tension filled the air and was once again so thick that she could almost touch it. It was suffocating. Dimitri had not moved an inch save for a lift of his chin as he spoke. 

“Margrave Gautier,” Dimitri began. “How long have you guarded our northern border?” 

The unexpected question plainly confused him. Indignity flared as he drew himself up to his full height. “House Gautier has guarded our northern border against invasion since Faerghus separated from the Empire. I was defending it before you could pick up your first sword.”

Dimitri’s laugh was so subtle that it may not have reached anyone beyond the dais. “Indeed. You have devoted the great majority of your life to the service of Faerghus, a sacrifice for which I am grateful. I have summoned you here, because I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart.” 

This gave the margrave pause and drew Sylvain’s distant look to focus on them. Surely they could hear the cold in Dimitri’s voice that contradicted his words. His smile, devoid of warmth, masked some secret enjoyment known only to him. 

“As a show of my gratitude, I wish to extend something that very few men and women of Faerghus receive. Henceforth, I relieve you of your duty to the Dukedom of Gautier. Your land and authority will be passed on to your son, Sylvain Jose Gautier and you will spend the remainder of your days in peace and repose.” 

Despite the honied words, only a fool could miss the dagger behind them. The old man’s face drained of color before her eyes, leaving Byleth to wonder how he did not faint. Sylvain lowered his gaze for a split second as if he were searching for something there before darting back up to the dais. 

Whatever Gautier had wanted to say, he swallowed as he stared down the fair-haired king and chose his words carefully.

“Your Majesty,” he began taking a step forward and sinking to his knee. Whatever Gautier had wanted to say, he swallowed as he knelt and chose his next words carefully. “Thank you for your gracious gift. It is my greatest honor to safeguard our land and our people. I assure you, my King, I am not weary of this great responsibility. Your Majesty, my King, allow me to continue to serve you and our countrymen. Please.” The plea must have soured in his mouth the way that it twisted at the word. 

Dimitri’s eyes glistened as he stood. Color sprang to her cheeks as she watched him slowly rise to his full height, his cloak shifted to fall heavily to his heels. He towered over the kneeling man, who winced in his uncertainty of what was to come. Dimitri smiled. He would enjoy what came next. 

“Phillipe, I am surprised at you. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate my reasons. Was it not you who cast aside a son when his usefulness had run out?”

Shocked, the Margrave’s eyes darted up to the King’s face. Sylvain’s gaze snapped into focus at the mention of his elder brother. Both of them visibly shaken at this unexpected turn. 

“Am I mistaken, Phillipe?” Dimitri tilted his head, feigning confusion. “It was you, was it not, that disinherited your eldest son when your youngest was revealed to bear the crest of Gautier? What was his name?” 

Gautier’s voice was barely audible and his body shook where he knelt. “His name was Miklan.” 

“Life is difficult in the north and it is the way of things to cast aside what can no longer serve its function. Is it not?” Each word was a calculated jab and the tilted grin on his face revealed the joy in which he delivered each blow. He had indeed allowed his anger to cool and this was what remained. 

“Your majesty! I beg of you please, let me explain,” the man spluttered. 

“Enough,” A raised hand silenced the room. “Will you peacefully transfer your title and land to your son?” 

Gautier was quiet, his face red and his eyes glued belligerently to the floor. 

“Answer me.” It was a command befitting a dog. When Gautier did not, Dimitri alighted the dais to approach the old man with heavy prowling steps, looking for all the world like a lion preparing to feast. 

“If you do not transfer your title and land, I will strip you of it and I will cart you off to serve me in Fhirdiad for the rest of your life.”

Gautier looked up at him, shock giving way to fear at the blunt threat. Visible sweat beaded heavily on his brow but Dimitri’s advance was unrelenting if not excruciatingly deliberate. At last he stopped. If he were to continue, Gautier would have to move or be trodden on. 

“There you will remain with me until the end of your days and you will never set foot on this land again. Unless you obey me.” The fabric of his cloak whispered as he extended his hand, palm to the floor, an opportunity for a show of fealty. 

She felt like the air had been drawn out of the room as the pair of them filled her vision. It seemed that no one, not even the margrave himself knew what he would do. As time stood still, the plan they had crafted played rapidly across her mind. 

_“And if he agrees?” she had asked him.  
“Then I am a man of my word and he will live out the rest of his life in his home.”  
“How can you be sure he will not mount a rebellion in your absence?” _

_The wolfish grin that spread across his face insinuated that he hoped the old man would. Through that grin he replied, “Due to the lack of warpers, it will not seem strange that the Knights and Gilbert remain. I will send additional troops to bolster their numbers. In support of the exchange of power, of course.”_

Sylvain watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, expression still unreadable. Perhaps he had expected this or perhaps he saw the justice in this after having endured so much at the hands of his elder brother. Either way, his grave acceptance was somehow heartbreaking, as though the lighthearted person she knew was impermanent, something he reveled in while he could, knowing fully what the future held for him whether he wanted it or not.

Even kneeling, Margrave Gautier held his ground stubbornly refusing to move an inch. But Dimitri was a patient man and just as unyielding. The intensity of his gaze bore down on the old man and at last, when Byleth thought she couldn’t bear the growing tension any longer, he relented. When he ducked his head, Byelth released the breath she’d obliviously been holding.

In a rush of movement, Gautier took Dimitri’s hand in his and drew the knuckles to his forehead. Pressing them against his brow, the oath of fealty tumbled out of him. “My King. I renew my vow, that my family will serve Faerghus and the royal family until they deem us unworthy. My son will make a fine Margrave and serve you in my stead.”

Dimitri withdrew his hand gently but his gaze remained hard, fixed and unblinking on the bowed head of the man before him. The silence pressed in around them and several moments passed before Dimitri was satisfied. “Very good. We will announce Sylvain’s new title and then depart for Fhirdiad.” 

Without granting the man leave to rise, Dimitri brushed past him to lean in close to Sylvain. Byleth stood to follow behind. 

“You may not want this now, but I know with no doubt that this is the right and proper course of action,” he said, clapping a hand to Sylvain’s shoulder.

Sylvain nodded with all the aire of someone who was about to receive his last meal, grateful but wary of what was to come. 

Dimitri continued toward the doors and, as she passed, she turned to meet Sylvain’s eyes. He did not meet her gaze. He had turned and was watching as Dimitri passed through the opened doors. Leaving him there, she quickened her step to catch up to Dimitri. 

He was pulling his armored gloves onto his fingers when she joined him in the receiving room. Gilbert stood next to him, stoney faced as ever. “Are we ready to depart after the announcement, Gilbert?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.”   
“And Hobbs?”   
“I will see to it, your Majesty.” 

“Thank you Gilbert,” he said with all the pleasantness of a summer’s day, then turned to her with that easy smile that melted her insides. He offered her his arm and she took it without thought. Before long, she was blinking into the morning light atop the stone stairs that lead down into the confines of the courtyard. 

The tiny courtyard was bustling and the main gates were wide open to reveal the sweeping green fields beyond. She’d missed this view during their harried ride the night before and the emerald grasses seemed at stark odds with everything she’d known of Gautier’s land so far. It suddenly made sense that decadent cheeses and cream came from the cows here. This peak into the lands riches softened something inside of her in the midst of this morning's tumult and political intrigue. She could understand how she might have fallen in love with this land.

The soldiers and servants milling about in the courtyard stopped as shouts rose and passed further back beyond the gate, altering everyone to the king’s presence. All in attendance bowed or curtsied. The rustle of skirts and the clang of armor filled the air as everyone straightened gaze up at them framed by the arched wooden door frame behind. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Dimitri began. His voice and sincerity carried easily across the courtyard to everyone present. Smiles of adoration had begun to spread on the faces of many and some held their hands to their hearts or touched their knuckles to lips. How curious to see so many plainly enamored with him be it by power or demeanor. But as she looked up at the man by her side and the sun glinted off his hair and armor alike, Byleth admitted to herself that she could understand how he could inspire his subjects in such a way. 

“I have seen the abyss that threatens our northern border and I ask you all to have courageous hearts. Do not falter in the face of fear and uncertainty. I will send word when I have consulted with the ArchBishop. Until then, do your best to remain steadfast.” 

“Long live the King!” 

The solitary shout was taken up by others and joined with cries of “For the Holy Kingdom.” How such a small number gathered could raise a thunderous sound like this she did not know. Her blood warmed and her lungs filled with pride despite this not being her homeland. Perhaps she had begun to think of it as so and this was the returning love she had for it?

With a raised hand, he called for silence.

“We will depart for Garreg Mach and, Goddess willing, will return with the answers we need. Until then, carry on and remain steadfast.” 

The crowd gave away with little prompting to continue the preparations. With a start, Byleth realized that Gautier and Sylvain had joined them on the landing. As Gautier wished Dimitri a safe journey Byleth turned to Sylvain who was pulling on his gloves with an unnecessary amount of focus. Without even looking at her, somehow he knew what she was planning to say. 

“Don’t bother, Professor.” He’d slipped back into her old honorific, a habit that she guessed was difficult for all of her lions to break. “It’s not like I haven’t been groomed for this my entire life whether I wanted it or not.” 

The weight of his tone and his words pushed down on her and she furrowed her eyebrows in thought. Sylvain glanced to her out of the corner of his eye and a mirthless laugh puffed out of him. “It’s impossible to tell Dimitri no when he’s decided something. You of all people should know that.” 

The bitterness in his tone struck her. And what did he mean that she should know? Even if she did not intend it, her imagination picked up the bait and a new flurry of questions swirled in her mind. If only she could remember! 

“Come. Preparations should be complete and our horses ready for departure.”

With a snap of her head, she found Dimitri smiling down at her. She took his offered arm and proceeded down the stairs. The warpers had taken up their positions outside the courtyard gate where four horses were saddled with blinders at the ready. Sylvain followed behind, joined at the foot of the stairs by Felix and his father. She could hear a murmured conversation behind her but could not make out any words further. 

“I think that went well.” 

Dimitri sounded pleased but when she looked up to him she found his expression stern and gaze fixed ahead. Pursing her lips, she wondered. “Did it?”

“When a shift in power does not end in bloodshed, it went well.” 

“What about after we leave?” 

“You never can tell, beloved. The best we can do is make it appear to be amicable and then leave a military presence to oversee the change.” 

She nodded, unable to hide her distaste for these sorts of proceedings.

“I didn’t have a taste for it either,” he said softly, his tone drawing her eyes back up to this face. “But it is necessary. I cannot have the lords of my kingdom regarding me as an equal or a child. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Byleth nodded. Often she’d been forced to make a decision for the greater good, even when she wasn’t certain of the outcome. One had to maintain a sense of control and authority, especially on the battlefield. Your authority cannot be questioned. Being a king, it seemed, was much like being a general or the leader of a mercenary band. 

He must be particularly wary of rebellions after what had happened in the western territories after his father’s murder. And quickly after, Lonato’s rebellion. She could understand his decision to shift the seat of power but the bloodthirsty glint in his eye and provocation in his tone made it clear that he’d have welcomed a challenge and an excuse for violence. Perhaps he was not as opposed to bloodshed as he would have her believe. 

The sun was just creeping over the horizon even though the cloudless sky had been the light blue of the day's beginning for sometime. The gathered mages who were to perform the warp were dressed in all manner of attire, one in traditional robes, another dressed for work in the field and two had evidently dressed quickly in whatever was at hand. They made no attempt to hide disgruntled expressions as they readied themselves before each horse. 

Shifting in her saddle, Byleth surveyed the faces of her companions and found each set in his resolve. Much like their journey to the northern border, they would warp and ride as hard as they could to Fhirdiad. There they would receive new horses and another warp would send them on their way to Garreg Mach. It would be an arduous journey. 

Felix leaned forward out of his saddle as Rodrigue spoke to him softly. He nodded but said nothing in reply, likely embarrassed at some heartfelt well wishes from his father. With an encouraging pat to his son’s stirruped leg, Rodrigue turned toward them. He stepped between Byleth and Dimitri's horses and reached up to take Dimitri’s forearm. 

“Good luck. I will return to my lands as soon as you depart. Are you leaving your Knights behind?” It seemed a simple question but his eyes shook as Dimitri straightened from their goodbye.

“They may stay quite a while, depending on the circumstances.” 

Rodrigue nodded, appearing to fully understand the enigmatic answer. Then, turning his smile to her, he reached up to take her gloved hand. “I wish you luck as well, my Queen. I am thankful that you have emerged safely from the events of the previous day.” 

She nodded and he gave her hand a firm squeeze. Having said his piece, Rodrigue stepped back many paces, well outside of the warp zone but his gaze remained on Dimitri. The mages took their positions in front of the party and there was no more time to think about the events of that morning. 

They secured their mount’s blinders and settled in to sit as still as possible in their saddles. Where the group of warpers had a leader in Fhirdiad, this ragtag group would coordinate themselves it appeared. At a nod from Dimitri, they began their incantation and the fluid swirling of their arms in the air. As she began to feel the tingle of magic charging the air around her, she heard a low rumbling that she’d not heard in a warping spell before. 

Frowning, she looked around and found that the others were also looking around with perplexed expressions. The warpers, enrapt in their concentration, did not cease their spell. Even as they continued the rumble burst into roar that shook the ground beneath them.

Like a thousand frenzied drums banging in no particular rhythm or order, the sound filled her ears and everything around her heaved with such violence that she tightened her legs against her horse’s flank. The tingling feeling intensified until it began to burn hot on her skin and the mages in front of her tilted and stumbled with the final gestures of the spell. 

The film of magic slapped against her, blistering hot as it encased her like a second skin which burned with the intensity of live coals on paper. She screamed or her horse screamed, she couldn’t tell the difference. Stark white burst across her eyes and then her vision went black. 

She couldn't see or hear anything but the searing heat continued to press in until she thought her bones would cook in her boiling blood. If her eyes were opened, she couldn’t tell nor could she squeeze them shut. Nothing was solid as she floated there, suspended in nothing and knowing nothing but pain and heat. Her nerves screamed even when she couldn’t open her mouth to do so with her voice. The agony continued to devour her until a violent ripping sound assailed her ears. The sound was outside of herself and it began and ended in an instant. 

Suddenly there was something solid beneath her. Every muscle in her body flexed and contracted as she came into herself. Her lips opened as she gasped at the air like a fish out of water. There was something soft and cold beneath her hands. She grasped at it, digging nails into the soft soil beneath the blades of grass that she tore in her clawing. Sound accompanied her breath at last and an inhuman screech erupted from her throat.

Shaking from fear and pain, she rutted her face into the ground, not knowing fully where she was or even what she was. Her breath gradually returned to her, and the strained sounds she made deepened into a low, rattling wail. It was muffled by the ground as she turned to bury her face against the earth. Mud. She remembered that this was called mud and grass. She could smell the grass. She could feel the mud on her hands and face. She was alive. She was a human. All of these realizations tumbled across her mind, piling up and spilling over one another as she clung desperately to the thick blades of grass. 

Her name was Byleth. She was a human. She was alive. Shuddering, the strength in her limbs gave out and she fell forward. Exhaustion overtook her. Her eyes shut, her breath evened and then the morning light dimmed behind her falling lashes.


	10. Aftershocks

Byleth awoke with a start, her head pounding and body aching. What appeared to be a midday sun shone thin in the winter sky and stung her eyes despite it’s weakness. Trying to recall exactly what had happened only made the throbbing in her head more pronounced and as she tried to roll over every muscle screamed in protest. She felt like she’d gone one too many rounds with Catherine at the training grounds. 

Powering through the soreness, she hauled herself up to sit on a large rock within arms reach. When she plopped down to sit, she had to take several moments to catch her breath, leaned over her knees. Still squinting against the sunlight, she raised her head to look around. As far as she could see there was flat land covered in thin grass. Patches of snow remained in between sparse bushes and reedy plants which bent in the almost constant wind. For all accounts, she was alone in the middle of a Faerghusean plain but how had she come here? 

Her hands and clothing were caked in mud and the ground where she’d been looked like the grass had been torn up. A closer examination of her nails found both mud and grass beneath. Her clothing was wet, presumably from the snow that had melted beneath her. Why would she have been laying in the snow and digging in the mud with her fingers? 

Like a bolt of lightning, the memory crashed into her. The agony of the warp and colliding with the ground with the force of a sprint into a wall. Where was her horse? Where was Dimitri and Felix and Sylvain? Where was her horse? Panic sparked in her gut as she realized what might have happened to them and she jumped to her feet. The world around her shook and the ground shifted beneath her feet. She threw her arms out to steady herself and realized that it wasn’t the earth shaking, it was her vision from having stood too quickly. 

Despite her staggering, she tried to call out for them. Her voice croaked and her throat felt coated in glass when she swallowed. She did remember screaming but how long had she been at it? Gradually her balance returned so she could stand more upright instead of wobbling around like a newborn foal. 

“Dimitri!” Her voice was a little stronger this time. “Sylvain!” She took a few unsteady steps forward, determined to start moving even if her knees felt like jelly. “Felix! Answer if you can hear me!” 

There was no answer. As the bitter wind whistled past her it must have carried her voice with it. She was coated in sweat and her clothing had absorbed a fair amount of water from the ground which gave the wind unrestrained access to nip at her skin. With a shiver, Byleth clutched her cloak around her tighty while she thought about her next move. The sky had become overcast, making it difficult to tell where the sun was in the sky. She would have to pick a direction, any direction, and start walking. Goddess willing, she would find them or someone to help. 

Every few paces she would stop to call out and wait with bated breath for a reply. When none came, the knots in her stomach drew tighter. They could be anywhere and likely not together. In fact, they might not have left Castle Gautier. Or worse. 

She’d read stories of unsuccessful warps and the results were never pleasant. With a shake of her head, she pushed the grisly story of a small miscalculation that materialized someone in the middle of a solid wall out of her mind. Worrying wouldn’t serve her right now. 

As she huddled under her cloak, trudging against the wind, Byleth failed to notice as the fog had thickened around her. Not until she’d started up an obvious incline did she notice it at all and when she did, she could barely see further than a yard or two. She had no idea where she was going before but now she was pressing on without seeing where she was going either. Nevertheless, her spirits lifted to have found a foothill. Any sort of high ground in weather like this was a boon.

Up she went and when the incline leveled off she tried to find her bearings. At the crest of the foothill, she tried to get her bearings. Her hope at finding them by sight sank. The fog had spread to fill the entire plain. With her hands cupping her mouth, she sucked in as much breath as she could and called again. 

“Dimitri! Felix! Sylvain!” 

Nothing but the wind replied. Her imagination began to pick up where her determination left off, filling her thoughts with all the horrendous things that could have happened to them. She stared hard into the fog, hoping for some moment to catch her eye. More than once she thought she saw something or someone but as she waited, nothing emerged. 

_“Just because they aren’t at the first foothill doesn’t mean they're in danger,”_ she thought, bolstering herself to go on. But as she started making her way back down the slope, the fog seemed thicker somehow. Had it been like this a moment ago? Squinting did very little to help. She even waved her hand in front of her face to try to clear it to no avail. This was fog after all, not smoke. 

The ground leveled out beneath her feet signaling that she was at the base of the foothill. She would have to walk carefully in this. A broken ankle wouldn’t do any of them any good. Despite her fear pressing her to rush headlong into the thick grey expanse, she inched forward with painstaking care. 

It was slow going until her foot struck something hard and big. Whatever it was was substantial enough that it stopped her foot rather than rolling with it as she walked. It felt like a rock. Kneeling down and groping ahead she found it and her stomach dropped along with her hopes. 

Just to be certain, she leaned forward to check the ground on the other side of the rock and sure enough, there was the dip in the ground where she’d been laying and the lines of torn grass and mud made by her fingers. She had gotten turned around somehow and wound up right where she started. 

A frustrated sound burst out of her. How could she stay calm when everything around her was strange and the urgency of finding her students, no former students, kept her pulse racing. She needed better visibility if she wanted to make any progress. If only she had a torch. Perhaps she could manage a fire spell in lieu of a torch. 

Eyes shut in concentration, she mumbled the words of the incantation. It was easier to say aloud than try to focus clearly on the words in her mind alone. The elements began to gather in the palm of her hand, tingling pleasantly as they did. A simple adjustment should allow the ball of fire to hover above her hand instead of rocketing away. 

Soon the soft glow of the fireball warmed her face and a satisfied grin perked the corner of her mouth when she opened her eyes to find the light fixed above the palm of her hand. But her victory was short lived as she realized the light did very little to penetrate the fog further than a few paces away from her. She couldn’t delay any longer to adjust the spell, there were people counting on her. 

Using the rock as a marker, she turned and trudged back toward the foothill with a renewed confidence in her path. At the top, she wasted no time in going down the other side and when the ground leveled out, the little flicker of hope in her chest strengthened until her foot struck something hard. 

She knew what it was even before she was ready to admit it to herself. Kneeling down, she found the same rock and beyond it the same scene of rendered mud and torn blades of grass. Keeping anger and frustration at bay was difficult but paramount. It was normal to be disoriented in the fog under regular circumstances but she had been confused from the start in unfamiliar terrain. Walking in circles was inconvenient, frightening even, but completely normal. 

It was time to try something different. Rather than risk doing the same thing she’d already done twice, she stepped up on top of the rock and raised her hand bearing the flame aloft. If others were wandering in the fog, maybe they would see the light and come to her. She called each name again as loud as she could but even her voice felt suppressed by dismal murk. 

A distinct rustle behind her drew her attention. With a jerk of her head, she turned to look behind her but there was nothing to see except the haze that surrounded her on all sides. She shifted nervously, recalling that Faerghus was known for its bears and called out each name hesitantly. Even as she squinted, straining to see beyond her orb of light, there was not further sound or movement that she could detect. 

Just as she began to consider leaving her rock, she heard another sound like a sigh or a moan from someone she couldn’t see. It was so clear and distinctively human that she expected to see someone appear, stumbling out of the gloom at any moment but nothing came. The hairs on her arm began to rise beneath her doublet making her skin prickle with an unnerving sense of being watched. She was growing weary of this feeling, the ever present foreboding hovering over her head like an axe. This had been such a constant feeling that her patience for it was becoming threadbare. 

A few days prior, she might have shrunk into herself but now, she jumped off the rock defiantly. With the fire spell brandished high like a torch, she gripped her sword hilt with her free hand. 

“Who’s there?” Perhaps for the first time since this had begun, she sounded as angry as she felt. “Show yourself immediately.” 

The wind shifted suddenly and as it whipped her cloak she could have sworn someone or something had brushed past her, just beyond her periphery. She had spent enough time dismissing her instincts. Settling into a defensive stance, she drew her sword. The feel of the leather bound hilt in her hand strengthened her resolve and with a command worthy of the Blade- Breaker’s daughter she called out again. 

“Come out. I’ve had enough of this.” 

Again the thing in the fog rushed past her, distinguishing itself from a simple gust of wind. This time the sound of a high childish laugh followed it. Byleth widened her stance, digging the balls of her feet into the ground, ready to spring in either direction but she could not pin down what to spring at. Then she spotted it, a shadowy figure in the fog. She couldn’t make out any discerning features but she knew without a doubt that there was someone there. Turning to face them, she leveled her sword. 

“Stop toying with me. Show yourself.” 

The figure swayed where it stood. It said nothing and made no move to advance or run away. It just stayed obscured in the fog and watched her. Even though she couldn’t see it’s face, she knew it was watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood erect but she refused to look away even as her blood chilled in her veins. 

Her breath rumbled in her ears, louder than the wind as she waited, poised and ready to strike at the slightest movement. Why didn’t it move? Why wouldn’t it speak? Why was it just looking at her? These questions grew louder and louder inside her until she could stand it no longer. Fear and frustration collided to explode in a battle hardened shout as she launched herself into the fog swiping the tip of her sword up. If they were close enough, she’d catch them with the tip, if not, the downward slask that followed would take them at the neck and shoulder. 

With no more resistance than the air, the over zealous lunge of her attack carried her stumbling forward. Byleth caught her balance quickly and turned, shoulders hunched in anticipation of a hit from behind. Wild eyes darted back and forth, searching for the thing that had dodged her attack. 

“Where are you?” she growled. 

Her control, already fractured, was dangerously close to shattering all together. When she felt the fabric of her cloak pull back, she spun around, leading with the ball of fire in her hand followed by a swift downward cut of her blade. With no resistance to meet her attack, she staggered as her balance faltered. 

That laugh sounded again, this time further into the fog. Every warning inside of her, cautioning her against being led into the murk winked out with her fire spell as she gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands and raised it to shoulder height. Moving fast as a bolt of lightning, Byleth leapt forward, using the momentum of her jump to bring what would have been a brutal slash down on her opponent. Again she struck nothing and again the laughter cackled from further within the fog. She pursued blindly, provoked by the taunting laugh and plucks at her clothing. 

Eventually she lost count of the times she dove headlong into the haze. When at last she settled into a defensive stance to catch her breath, she realized that not only had been lured further into the murk but that her opponent was wearing her out. Left with little to work with after the warp, her body screamed at her to rest but her eyes, wide and wild, continued searching for her opponent. 

Her breath remained so heavy that she could no longer form words and gulped at the air, nothing but the whistle of the wind remained. Reason began to return to her and she realized that she’d been baited away from the single landmark she recognized and worked to exhaustion. She had no idea where the rock was or which direction she’d come. Byleth cursed under her breath. How could she have made such an amature mistake? Again, she’d been made a fool of by something she couldn’t even see. 

Another figure appeared, materializing through the fog just beyond the reach of her weapon. It swayed from side to side as she stared and the growl that came out of her sounded more like an animal than human. 

“I’m not afraid!” she shouted though she had regained enough of her good sense through exhaustion not to leap after it again.

The timbre of it’s laugh sent renewed chills racing down her spine. It laughed like something inhuman and unhinged. It pierced her ears and set her teeth on edge. As the laughter continued the first figure was joined by a second and then a third. The trio swayed from side to side watching her and laughing. They were joined by a fourth and a fifth. Before she could blink, she realized that been surrounded by countless shadowy bodies and there was nowhere to go. 

Her stomach leapt into her throat as she shifted her stance and adjusted her grip. At any moment, she expected them to fall on her like a wave on the sand and she would not surrender without a fight. Just when the tension inside of her had knotted so tightly that she could snap at any moment, the sound of laughter shifted. One or two of the shadowy figures doubled over, their heads wagging as they began to cry. 

The first soft cries spread like a wildfire, the sounds taken up by the multitude of shadows surrounding her. Where there had been mad laughter before, a keening, sorrowful sound took its place. Comprised of many voices, their suffering and sadness filled the plain. She could hear them distinctively and all at once. This made no sense. How could she hear so many voices all at once, crying, weeping as though they’d lost everything they had ever loved.

Their suffering clung to her, burrowed into her mind until she was sure it was her own. Stunned, Byleth touched her cheek and found it wet with tears. The realization that she could drown in this mire of infinite sadness buzzed in her limbs like a warning. She had to do something. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on her sword until her knuckles cracked. 

“Stop it.” Somehow the words came out through her locked jaw. 

But they did not. Their despair rose to a feverish pitch, some raising their faces skyward to wail while others remained bent under the weight of their mourning until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. She would go mad if she stayed here. She would lose herself to this communion of loss if she didn’t do something. 

Summoning the strength of will she had left, Byleth let out a gut wrenching scream that drowned out everything else in her ears as she threw herself toward the circle, sword raised high. Just as she flexed to hammer the blade downward her arms stopped, caught by something solid that wrapped around her wrists. She recoiled with a startled grunt and would have fallen back if the grip hadn't been made of stone. 

With a growl and a violent jerk back, she struggled to free herself from the indiscernible thing that held her. Fear crashed through her in waves, carrying a surge of strength throughout her limbs but twist and pull as she might she couldn’t free herself. When that didn’t work she lunged forward, taking advantage of her opponent’s pull to throw them off balance. It worked. Whatever held her stumbled back and her raised knee took them just below the ribs but somehow, they did not loosen their grip on her wrists.

The urgent call of survival dulled her hearing so that the call of her name bounced harmlessly away like hail on a boulder. Following the momentum she had created, Byleth tumbled forward to land on top of her attacker as they fell. 

At last, something solid! 

That thing was someone and their grip on her wrists tightened as she struggled, until her sword was knocked out of her hands. Now weaponless and restrained, the survival instinct that had saved her countless times as a mercenary took charge. She would survive at all costs. Twisting her shoulders aside, she drew their hands away and drove her forehead down with ruthless force. She connected with a crunch and a pained cry erupted from whatever was beneath her. Still, it did not let go. 

Then something grabbed her by the waist and she twisted trying to reach around but her wrists were held fast. Memories of being grasped and lifted by phantom hands that stung and bit like ice took hold and fear ignited in her belly. 

“No!” 

She squeezed her eyes shut for fear of what she would see and thrashed violently in the hands of her captors. But their grip, like the night before was unearthly strong and she knew that at any moment they would begin to carry her to some unseen gateway where something awaited her in the dark.

“Byleth!” 

She heard her name that time and slowly recognition dawned on her. That voice was familiar and had called her name several times over. She froze in her writhing, breath ragged from her effort. 

“Byleth!”   
“Are you okay Dimitri?”   
“Don’t let go of her, she’s crazed!” 

It was Sylvain, Felix and Dimitri. Her eyes popped open and below her, holding her wrists like his life depended on it was Dimitri. Blood gushed from his nose and ran thick down the side of his face. She could see him clearly in the light of a midday sun and as her eyes rolled to the side she found that the fog had dissipated. If it had ever been there at all. 

Sylvain had a hold of her around the waist and was straining to hold her up. He must have been trying to separate them but Diitri hadn’t dared to let go of her wrists. Any relief she might have felt at finding them in one piece was smothered in the bone deep exhaustion that swept through her. 

“Let go of me,” she said weakly but neither of them loosened their hold on her. 

“Let me go! I’m not going to attack you.” 

Hesitantly, Dimitri released her wrists and she wriggled out of Sylvain’s grip, dropping unceremoniously onto the ground. She pushed herself up and strode several heated paces away from them, working to expel the adrenaline in her limbs. The world shrouded in mist and inhabited by shadows was nowhere to be seen. The only traces of what had occurred lay in the grooves and kicked up earth she had made during her attacks.   
Turning back to face them, she found Sylvain crouched beside Dimitri who was splayed back to the ground. Felix sat on the rock she’d stood on before. His leg was bound at the knee and stretched out straight in front of him. Seemed he was doing his best not to wince each time he shifted. 

“Professor. What’s going on?” Sylvain was looking at her with a wariness that she didn’t like. 

Licking her lips, she took a deep breath though it shook in her chest as she did. Dimitri pushed himself up. Leaning back on his hand, he raked his other sleeve across a bloodied nose. A tough to her own forehead found it wet and as she feared it was blood from where she had collided with him.

“I don’t know.” Her mind spun as she struggled to explain to them what had happened without sounding as crazy as she felt. 

This drew an exaggerated huff from Felix who folded his arms across his chest. Somehow he managed to look disgruntled even when sitting on a low rock. 

“There was a fog,” she started still holding her distance from them. “I couldn’t find you after the warp and there was a thick fog. I couldn’t see through it. And then there were,” she paused again trying to find the right word for them. “... figures in the mist, watching me. They looked like people and they were crying.” Just recalling the sound made her break out into fresh goosebumps. “You didn’t see any of that, did you?”

The expression on their faces was enough to confirm. 

Dimitri got to his feet and approached her slowly, much like you would a skittish horse. There was great concern evident on his face beneath the streak of red beneath his nose and fading along his cheek bone. He took a gentle hold of her shoulders when he was near enough and she did not resist. It was comforting to feel his solid warm hands on her even under such strange circumstances. He searched her eyes for a moment. Was he deciding if she could hear the truth?

He shook his head. A gentle no. Her knees shook and she wondered again what was wrong with her. Was she insane already or spiraling that way? Was this the impact of the abyss? As if he could hear her thoughts aloud, his face shifted into a soft reassuring smile. “This will be okay. I’m here by your side and I’m not going anywhere.” 

She nodded and lowered her eyes unable to keep them steady on his. Whatever unnamed emotion was roiling in her stomach was too painful to pin down and so she swallowed it and turned her attention back toward the others. She moved to step out of his grasp and he released her resignedly to trail behind her.

“I’m sorry.” The statement was plain and direct. There was no sense in belaboring how bad she felt or how foolish she must have seemed. Sylvain nodded, equallably relieved not to discuss it further and Felix huffed his acceptance. 

“What happened to you all after the warp?” the asked, turning to address the three of them at once. She listened intently as each shared similar experiences, blinding pain followed by confusion and disorientation. As they talked, a comforting sense of familiarity settled in her chest. Perhaps much of her disease came from trying to fill a noblewoman’s shoes when she still felt more like their professor than anything else. 

While Sylvain and Dimitri had landed relatively unscathed, Felix had not been so lucky. When he materialized, he had landed on a sharp rock that had broken his shin. Somehow, the three of them were close enough that they found each other quickly and Felix did not have long to wait for help. Though it irked him to no end needing assistance in the first place.

Their horses were another matter. Blinded as they were in preparation for the warp, it came as no surprise that only two of the four had been recovered. One was still missing and the other had run into a muddy bog and was unable to be saved. 

Once reunited, they had begun to search for her and it wasn’t long before they heard her screams. Having left Felix to lean on Sylvain’s shoulder, Dimitri found her first. 

“There was no fog and no figures, that I could see. Your sword was drawn and you had fire in your hand. I had no idea what you were facing but it was evident from your stance that you were in danger.”

“Or thought you were in danger,” Felix added. 

Dimitri shot him a sidelong glare before continuing. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch you before you turned and rushed me.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“You didn’t see me,” he said reassuring her. “Your eyes weren’t fixed on me, they were fixed on something behind me or through me. I don’t believe for a minute that you intended to attack me.” 

“You gave him a run for it though,” Sylvain added with a laugh. “It was nearly impossible to pull you off of him.” 

Byleth nodded. She did feel reassured. It was fortunate that all he had to show for it was a bloody nose. 

No one knew exactly what had happened at the warp point but they had all heard and felt a rumbling that closely resembled an earthquake. Speculation aside, it was difficult to believe that the spell had gone awry on it’s own. There was no reason to suspect sabotage or fowl play. A spell of that magnitude would have taken many casters and close proximity which seemed unlikely.

“I think it’s obvious,” Dimitri said with his chin in his hand and his gaze focused on the ground as he thought. When he realized that everyone was looking at him, he shifted self consciously. He’d said something out loud that should have remained a secret.

“What’s obvious?” Felix asked suspiciously.

Byleth met Dimitri’s gaze and nodded. 

By the time they had finished the telling, culminating in Byleth’s rescue by Father Hobbs, Sylvain and Felix both looked like they’d taken a direct hit from a ballista.

Sylvain whistled low. “I guess that explains why we couldn’t open that door.”

“I believe the abyss, or whatever we choose to call it, is alive or houses something alive.” Dimitri continued. “Either way, it must feed on sanity. She seems to be the only one to escape with that intact, so whatever it is must be intent on claiming it.” 

Felix shifted, wincing as his leg moved. The pain did nothing but fuel his irritation. “Why not? Nothing else seems to be making sense right now so why not a sentient darkness hunting down it’s victim's sanity?”

“If you have a better theory, I’d love to hear it.” The sarcasm embedded in Dimitri’s tone was not lost on Felix who opened his mouth to retort. 

“Regardless,” she interrupted them. “We need to figure out where we are and which direction to ride. We are expected at Fhirdiad and we don’t have time to waste.”

“That’s where you’re in luck, your majesty.” Sylvain stretched his arms over head looking very much like a cat. “Don’t forget we grew up here. We’re not as lost as you think.”

“He’s right, beloved. Of course losing two horses will slow us down a bit. But if we leave soon we should reach the gates of Fhirdiad just after sunset.”

Felix would have to ride behind Sylvain and her behind Dimitri. As much as he complained about it, there was not another way with his leg as it was. Before they could depart, his leg would need better support. Byleth crafted a makeshift splint with some thin wispy trees. It wasn’t the best but it would have to do. No matter how they arranged him on the horse, this would not be a comfortable ride. 

By the time she was satisfied with their arrangement, she found that she had fallen entirely into the role of their professor and caretaker even though they were no longer her students. Byleth turned to join Dimitri on what had been Felix’s horse. He reigned it in as it stamped anxiously at the ground and offered her his hand.

He lifted her effortlessly and she settled in behind him. Just as they readied to depart, a faint rumbling sounded like thunder in the distance. Each of them turned to look back toward the northern territories. The sky was clear. Not a single cloud had gathered. 

“Strange…” Dimitri mused. 

As they all looked on, the earth beneath the horse’s hooves trembled. It was nothing compared to the sound and furious shaking from that morning but the movement was unmistakable. Like a ripple in a pond, this was surely the outer rings of a much greater disturbance. 

There was no need for further discussion. She took hold of his hips as best she could manage through his cloak and they were off. The thick fur that lined his cloak tickled her face but after a while she found herself nestling into it, warm from the whipping wind. The faintest twinge of guilt peaked in her stomach at taking comfort during a time like this but it wasn’t enough to deprive herself of it. 

With her cheek pressed to Dimitri’s back, she watched the pair of border lords riding alongside them. Felix gritted his teeth determined not to show how painful this pace was for him and Sylvain was grimly focused on maintaining Dimitri’s pace. They both looked unusually old to her, suddenly at odds with how she remembered them just the night before when they bickered about late night training. 

A strange feeling, like a painful sadness gnawed at her stomach as she looked on. She wondered why she should feel so sad watching them like this. It felt as though she hadn’t merely forgotten the years since the battle at Garrag Mach but that she had missed them entirely, that they had grown and lived without her knowing, which was ridiculous. 

Even if she hadn’t been involved directly in their lives, she should have some recollection of them. Maybe this explained why she’d been advised to care for them but not get too attached. After all, her time with them would end after a single year and it was unlikely that she would play a substantial role in their lives after their time at the academy.

Knowing this and explaining away the burning nameless feeling in her stomach was another entirely. It was similar to what she’d felt when her father had died. Similar, but not the same. Like so many other feelings, maybe grief had different forms? 

She tightened her arms around Dimitri and buried her face in the fur at his back. He must have felt her because a moment later his gloved hand pressed down on her own to give her a comforting squeeze before returning to the reigns. With a sigh that did little to lighten the feeling in her chest, she let her thoughts drift with the wind as it whipped past them as they rode.


End file.
